Fiends
by Anonymous Void
Summary: Sequel to Stranger in those Homicidal Eyes. Not everyone who moves to South Park has good intentions. Who is the real face of evil?
1. Prologue

Author's Note: At last, the sequel to Stranger in those Homicidal Eyes. For those just tuning in, a few subplots from SITHE are going to be continued in Fiends as there were no satisfactory resolutions. Of course, in order to get the kind of resolutions necessary, we're going to need something big to happen. Thus, enter Rod Woods, a new OC I've been working on over the past couple of months. I've submitted him to a couple OC stories here and there but no one has picked him up yet and tried to develop him like with Bain. So with no other interpretations to this character out and about, I'll be taking the reins for now. I'd also like to give a thank you to CherrySlim who took time out of her day to beta this. This is my first time doing something from first person but word of advice: don't get used to it. We'll be back to third person soon enough.

At this point, I have four returning OCs from SITHE: Charlotte White, Sunny Grain, Brianna Vargas, and Kyra McCloud. For those who submitted for SITHE, resubmit your OCs now because I will drop them. It may make the transition from SITHE to Fiends a bit awkward but hey, I'm an equal opportunity person. However, I'm going to be a bit particular about the submission form. I'll say it right now, at the bottom of this chapter, you will find the form and if you want your OC to be accepted, you must fill out the criteria in the submission form. No exceptions. With that said, that doesn't mean that you can't still give me the same information that you always give; just make sure that it's filled in the proper categories. Time is limited and once the call for OCs is taken off the summary, that's it. No more submissions will be accepted, no matter how awesome your OC might be.

With that out of the way, Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Fiends

Prologue

I take a deep breath of the cool mountain air, refreshing my lungs as I heave up another box from the moving van into my arms. There is some weight in the cardboard container but it isn't a problem for me to pick up and move wherever I want to put it. Now, where is it supposed to go? I can see the word kitchen scrawled on the side of the box so that sounds as good a place as any to dump it.

Moving is such a pain…

Huh, that's right, you have no clue what the hell I'm talking about. The name is Robert Woods but I prefer that you call me Rod. I got that name back in grade school when some kid called me that instead of Rob and it stuck. To be honest, I like Rod better than Rob or Bob or whatever the hell else you can come up with.

Plus there are other ways Rod could be applied if you know what I mean. You probably don't but that's not my damn problem.

Now, I know what you're thinking. I'm the new kid, moving into a small mountain town that I've never heard of until now but believe me, there is a good reason for all this. This ain't some bullshit sob story about trying to get a new start in the middle of nowhere. Fuck no, my parents were transferred to a new division that was placed a few miles out of town. It was built somewhere outside of Denver, Colorado; far enough away for privacy and greater control of security.

It just so happens that one of the nearest towns is called South Park. Stupid name if you ask me. Sure, my folks could have chosen to live in Denver or some other nearby town but they wanted to set a precedent or some shit. My guess is they were trying to be different.

Not that I give a shit or anything. If anything, I think I'm going to like it here. This place, it feels new and innocent, like it's a world of its own. Don't think it's strange that I think like that since I'm going to be a senior in high school. Shit like graduating with people I've known all my life means nothing to me to be honest. I don't get why people make such a big deal out of it anyway. It's not like you're ever going to talk or see those guys again.

I know, I know, I sound like an asshole. The truth is I'm a realist. I admit that I have flaws, that I'm not some kind of messiah sent here to save everybody's souls or some shit. I'm just an ordinary teenage guy with teenage hormones. Simple, right?

So here I am, dumping a box that probably has some pots or some shit like that into a kitchen that I have never set foot in before but I'm not having some emotional breakdown over it like you see in a bunch of those dumb teenager movies. And no, I'm not moving these boxes in because I want to or because I'm some kind of Good Samaritan. My parents, acting like they're some kind of executives, are orchestrating the movers outside and they've enslaved me when I wasn't looking.

Fortunately, I know when to drag my feet. I'm taking my time going from the house and to the van and since I have no siblings, I don't have to be annoyed by a bunch of whining and screaming kids. Sometimes, being an only child kicks ass. Not that I would know what it's like to have a brother or sister so I can't say I know what it's like to not to be an only kid.

Now, I know what you're thinking; I'm some kind of scrawny little nerd that's probably never lifted anything heavier than a pencil and likes to study all the time. Now that's just insulting. I'm a big guy and buff to boot. Back in Oregon, a no man's land between Seattle and Northern California, I was a stud. The girl's were all over me back there and let me tell you, you'd be very surprised to hear who've I been with.

Very surprised.

What can I say, I'm one handsome devil. If I didn't like the girls so much, I'd have to beat them off with a stick. And anyway, threeways can be fun.

As I walk out of the house, I can hear my parents directing the traffic and I move to the side as a couple workers pass me by. I plant myself a few feet away from the all the activity and watch as some of the movers struggle with an awkward metal frame that they're trying to pull out of the van. I smirk at it, knowing where exactly I want that frame to go.

I already scoped out the basement earlier and I planned on filling it up with all my gym equipment. I liked working out; how else am I going to get such a muscular physique if I don't work for it? Plus, the chicks love the muscles, let me tell you that.

It isn't like my parents would care about what I did with girls anyway; they're hardly home as it is. When they are, I could still go on about my own business and they wouldn't give two shits. Sounds fantastic doesn't it? Well, allow me to burst your bubble and say that it sucks donkey balls. I have to take care of my fucking self by myself and that's a lot of work. When they remember I exist, they try to bribe me with stuff and it's gotten to the point where I could ask for anything and they'd give it to me just to make themselves feel better.

And because my wants and needs don't disappear when they forget about me, I've taken the liberty of stealing a couple of their credit cards. They haven't asked any questions so why should I tell them what I've been using them for?

So yeah, it looks like I haven't painted a pretty picture for you of my "perfect" life. Does it really matter? Anybody could have a perfect life and they'd still find something to complain about. Me? Well, I know complaining about shit is not going to change anything so I'm not complaining. Go with the flow man, it'll take you far.

I adjust the leather jacket I'm wearing; I'm about to take off since the truck is almost empty and my parents are going to probably go out and eat something, completely forgetting that I'm fucking here as usual. Wouldn't be the first time but I already have a plan of what I'm going to do. I'll grab some fast food or something and go to a video store I saw on the way into town. A movie will distract me for a while and before I forget, I better look up when school starts. I know it's not tomorrow but it would be best to know ahead of time so that I can make a good impression on these hicks.

First impressions do matter and because of what I like, I need to make it a good one. After that, it'll be smooth sailing.

Now, onto one of the little "gifts" my parents have gotten over the years due to guilt: my motorcycle. I know what you're thinking, I'm wearing a leather jacket and ride a motorcycle. I must think I'm hot shit or something. Well, I am hot shit but that has nothing to do with anything. The jacket's here because it's wind resistant and practical for riding a motorcycle and the motorcycle's here 'cause it's a chick magnet.

Yeah, didn't expect a leather jacket to be practical for something, did you?

I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing but I'm not wearing my hat. The good thing is that it won't obstruct my helmet but the bad thing is that it's my favorite fucking hat and I don't want to show off any helmet hair. I haven't decided which it is yet.

My motorcycle is parked at the edge of our property, nearly on the neighbor's lawn and I can see that a girl is peeking from a window. I comb my fingers through my hearty stalk of dirty blond hair, tilting my head at just the right angle so that the sunlight showcases my tanned skin. Yes, it may look like I'm conceited and, well, I can't argue against that but I know what it takes to get some girls' blood boiling.

Showing off works if you pretend that you don't know anyone's around yet at the same time make it look like it's something natural and not arrogant gets the babes squealing every time. I may be a handsome son of a bitch but I can't let them think I'm full of myself. The looks need to appear as if they are incidental.

I straddle the seat of my bike and put the key into the ignition, revving the engine as it purrs to life. Oh yeah, those are some good vibrations there. I snag my helmet and pull it on, making a couple minor adjustments to it before kicking up the kickstand and rocketing off down the street.

Something I had noticed is once you cross into Colorado from Utah. The air was more crisp, almost fresher in a way. Maybe it's because of the elevation or maybe it's all that melting snow but whatever it is, the freshness of it all is invigorating. Well, whatever. All that matters is that I feel more energized than back in Oregon.

Keeping my eyes on the road, I casually glance over my new surroundings, taking in that small town look that seems so much more homely. Quaint. For some reason, I felt like this place is going to be boring.

The buildings are probably a hundred years old or something. Really, they're all solid colors with practically no advertisements. Well, there is that one construction site over there but that doesn't count as it's probably the first building being built here in fifty years or something.

I turn a corner, heading for the highway where I had at least seen some businesses. Slowing down, I come upon a large outlet mall and right over there is the video store. Hmm, there's a lot of parking and very little of it is being used. Not my problem.

I pull up to the store and shut my baby off, kicking open the kickstand and letting it lean to a side. As I'm getting off of it, I pause because I could have sworn I heard someone call out "Fag!" but that's probably my imagination. I stroll over to the video store, my helmet tucked under my arm, looking as relaxed as I could.

Showing that you're nervous was either a sign you're a loser or you're new. If you walk like you own the place, people will either think you're a local or attractive. Confidence, man. If you didn't have it, then you might as well live in your parents' basement for the rest of your life.

I don't show any irritation as I hear the jingle of a bell announce my entrance into the store. One glance around and I can see that this place isn't loaded. It would have some new releases, sure, and maybe some of the stuff that was rented often but if you're looking for something specific, odds are you won't find it.

I take long steps, moving casually through the store detectors. I roll my eyes at them; why the hell would someone try to steal a video that probably has been used by a hundred people and scratched to hell? You'd have to be retarded or something.

Then something catches my eye that's definitely way better than any movie I could find. And how could you not notice it? It's a girl with short, pink hair for crying out loud! The clothes aren't important since I can tell she's wearing the store uniform. Hmm, what else can I figure out about her?

From the outside, she looks calm. That probably means she's either comfortable in this place or that she's a pleasant person. That calmness extends all over her body from what I could tell so that probably means she's just comfortable in her setting. I need to get in closer, see what else I could detect.

Her eyes, they're this grayish green color but color isn't really important. No, it's the shape of her eyes and the hue and from that I can see that she's a trusting person. She's also tranquil as her eyes aren't darting to and fro. They were totally clear, as if she was innocent and naïve.

Hmm, interesting…

I can feel my body stirring and I know, oh yes, I know what I want. Time to put on the moves. I even have a good opening to use so that I can approach her in the first place. You have to lull them into complacency before you go in for the kill. If they don't see you coming, they're more likely to let you get in close and that is just one step closer to winning the game.

Not to brag or anything, but I've done this so many times that I have it honed into an art itself.

I lean against the counter, not in front of her but more to the side of her so that I wouldn't spook her. "Hey, what movies would you recommend?" I ask. That's step two there. Start with a neutral topic, preferably something boring and mundane.

Hmm, from this distance, I can see that her hair is uneven, as if she had gotten into a fight with a pair of scissors and lost. "Uh, what?" the girl asks, surprised that I'm standing right next to her. It's almost like she hadn't even seen me.

I quirk my lips just right… "Movies. I was wondering if you knew any good movies. I'm new in town and I'm trying to get settled in. Just thought a good flick might help me settle in."

The girl smiles softly at me. "I don't know…you may not like what I would choose."

I tilted my head just so, making sure to slightly widen my eyes. "Oh? How would you know that? For all you know, we could have the same tastes."

"Oh, sorry about that," the girl apologizes. "I don't think I've met a person who would enjoy horror movies."

"Like Freddy Krueger?" I ask.

"Oh, just any kind," she says airily, as if she is thinking about them right now. Getting lost in your own world, huh?

"Really? And what do you have that you think I would enjoy?" I press gently. "Think about it. Tell me what's really good."

"Well…" she bites her bottom lip, her eyes taking on that glazed look of someone thinking really hard. "You could go for a classic like _Idiotic Teenagers Getting Slaughtered_ or maybe something new like _You're in a Horror Movie Stupid_."

"Those sound very generic to me," I comment, doing my best to look thoughtful, as if I actually knew what I'm talking about.

"Maybe," the girl says, "but they are staples of the horror genre. Maybe you need something more intense. What about _Gorefest 2007_?"

"Don't you think that might be a bit…gory?"

"A bit gory? There's not _enough_ gore in it!" the girl replies heatedly.

"Okay, okay," I hold my hands up in mock surrender. "Take it easy there. Now, is there anything else?"

"Well, maybe _Evil Dead_," she shrugs. "I mean, there's a lot of movies out there and it's so hard to chose just one."

"I get it," I reply. "I guess I just didn't expect a pretty little thing like you to be such a fan of that kind of stuff. I guess that's what I get when I assume, right?"

I can see a slight pinkening of her cheeks; Christ this is too good to be true. I have barely gotten started and already she's showing signs of being flustered. To be honest, this is going to be easy but first, let's draw it out a little bit more. To makes things a bit more…interesting.

"Oh, and before I forget," I add, turning slightly so as to make it seem like I'm going to look for something, "and I know this is going to sound bad but please, try not to think anything less of me for it, okay?"

"Don't worry, if you're looking for the mature section, it's right behind that curtain in the back," the girl told me. Whoa, it's like she was reading my mind or something. "You're not the first to try and ask that question, you know."

"You're a doll, you know that?" I say with sincerity. No really, I am grateful I didn't have to ask where the porno is. Sure I might not show that I'm concerned with what other people think of me but when it comes to putting on the moves, you gotta show some humility or else all the girls are going to think you're some disgusting pig. So, I add a warm smile to my face, which I've been told really lights up my green eyes to the point they look like jewels. Hey, I'm just repeating what I've been told.

"It's not a problem," she says shyly as she looks away from me, her face reddening slightly.

Now I know I've got her.

"You know this town, right?" I ask. "How about I give you my number so that you can reach me, eh? I don't have anything going on until school starts around here so if you want to show me around, you can give me a call."

"Are you serious?" the girl asks and really, she sounds so honest about it, like she can't believe this is actually happening to her.

"Do I look like I'm pulling your leg?" I ask, leaning towards her slightly and intensifying my gaze just enough to get her blood boiling. I reach for something to write on and I happen to grab a gift card or something. I scratch down that seven digit number, though no area code included. "You can reach me here at anytime," I tell her as I slide the packaged card to her. "Now, I'm gonna go find something to watch. Are you going to still be here when I get back?"

She nods her pretty little head, her face the color of a tomato. Score, baby, score.

I don't really pay attention to what I grab with the exception of the porno. I spot a favorite of mine and so I snatch it up right away; it should really get me in the mood and maybe get me into the mindset of unpacking some special items I have stuffed somewhere in my packed away shit.

A minute later, I'm checked out and going through the door but I turn around just enough to shoot pink-hair a casual wink that got her blushing all over again. Not bad for my first day here.

As I get onto my bike and strap my helmet onto my head, I think to myself that I'm going to like it here. I have a new start with so many new people to meet.

They don't have a clue what's about to hit them.

* * *

Author's Note: Alright, here is the submission form. Allow me to clarify something up first. When you fill out part called "What would seduce them:" what I mean is how can someone flirt with them/attract them. For example, the pink-haired girl in the above chapter (**CherrySlim's **Sunny Grain) was engaged with talk about movies. Her guard is down now, making her easy to be seduced. Also, the "possible plotline" is nothing more than you giving me suggestions of subplots and how that OC would act within it. For example, in SITHE, Damien has kinda forced Kyle into a relationship with him; how would your character act or become involved in such a situation? This is NOT a required field you need to fill out but it would be nice if you did.

Name:

Gender:

Appearance:

Clothing:

Personality:

Likes:

Dislikes:

Friends:

Enemies:

Crush:

Basic History:

What would seduce them:

Possible plotline:

Other:

* * *

OCs used:

Sunny Grain - **CherrySlim**


	2. Picking Back Up

Author's Note: That's quite the response there, sixteen reviews, thirteen of them being unique. I believe that's the highest amount of reviews I've received for a single chapter but I'm more concerned whether or not I can keep you all interested. Interest in my stuff seems to fade off quickly. Well, anyway, if you review, ask questions. Tell me how I'm doing and what I could work better on. It gets my creative juices flowing which in turn makes writing the next chapter faster. To those who reviewed, I sent back replies asking about what you thought about Rod. Include what you think as I want to know how you are perceiving the story. It will influence how future chapters will be written. Also, I noticed how many of the OCs don't like either Wendy or Bebe or both. I wonder why that is. Well anyway, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Picking Back Up

The South Park Shopping Center, or the Mall to those of teenage mindsets, was the place to go if you wanted to find something. This ranged from clothes to video games to school supplies and everything in-between. If you wanted to get your girlfriend some jewelry, this was the place to go. If you wanted some decent sports equipment, there was a department store that catered to such needs. If you wanted a car, well, you had to go to Denver for that but outside of a Wall Mart, the Mall was the place you went to if you wanted to buy in bulk.

At this time of year, the citizens of South Park, mainly the teenagers and young children, were here to load up on school stuff and for the girls, new outfits to show off. What was usually a half filled building was bustling with students running from end to end or just lounging about, catching a breather from the hectic shopping.

Amidst those taking a break from the hectic run around were four boys who were a common sight in this town. Though young adults would be a better description of them, both physically and mentally when in comparison of the town's adults, they were infamous for being magnets for trouble and not the typical kind like getting busted for drunk driving. Their kind of trouble was more of supernatural and outright ridiculous and extreme scenarios that may or may not involve celebrities and politicians.

As you've probably guess, they were Stan Marsh, high school quarterback and average grade student, Kyle Broflovski, the genius level Jew with strict morals, Eric Cartman, a bigoted, anti-Semetic, and all around manipulative asshole with no moral compass, and Kenny McCormick, a poverty-stricken, redneck pervert who had a perchance for dying and coming back the next day though no one would remember him dying in the first place.

At the boys' feet were various shopping backs filled mostly with paper, binders, pens and pencils, and other miscellaneous school junk that none of them wanted to get but had to anyway. Most of the stuff was piled around the feet of Stan, Kyle, and Cartman while Kenny had a bag or two at his feet, charity from the first two.

"Can you believe it?" Stan asked aloud, leaning backwards and putting his hands behind his head. "We're seniors. This is our last year guys."

The other three mainly grunted at his statement and the environmentally friendly jock spared a glance at the Jew of their ragtag group. He had been sure that he would have at least gotten some kind of vocal agreement from Kyle. From Cartman he would have expected some kind of rip but he still had a neckbrace and some wiring that was keeping his jaw in place. He was scheduled to get those things taken off in the next couple of days but in the meantime, the once obese teen had slimed down somewhat from an all liquid diet seeing as how he wasn't able to open his mouth wide enough to get anything other than a straw between his teeth would have to keep his foul mouth shut.

To this day, he still hadn't told them how he had gotten the thing in the first place. It was probably because he had his ass handed to him by a girl or someone half his size.

However, he could care less about Cartman. Kyle was a different matter. Since the end of junior year, he hadn't seen much of his best friend and he was practically absent over the summer break. To be honest, this was one of the few times he had been able to hang out with him and unfortunately, he knew the big reason for this.

Sighing, he looked away from Kyle and asked out loud, "How's it going with Damien?" From the corner of his eye, he could spot Kenny stiffen at the sound of the Antichrist's name, something that had started up very recently to tell the truth.

"Huh, what?" Kyle asked, looking slightly drawn as he blinked his eyes owlishly. "Oh, it's fine, I guess."

"You guess?" he asked skeptically.

"I don't want to talk about it Stan," Kyle sighed as he rubbed his eyes.

"Freaking fag," Cartman managed to push through his clenched together teeth. "Always. Knew. You were. A fag. Jew."

"Cartman, you know the reason why you still have that thing on is because of your mouth, right?" Kenny warned. "You would have had it off a couple weeks ago but you made fun of Kyle in front of you know who."

"Odds are he's probably nearby and watching," Kyle added. "If not, he has one of his unholy servants around. Just saying that out loud, I don't care what you do."

Cartman grunted under his breath, glaring subtly at the Jew. After getting out of Hell's Pass from getting a severe asskicking, the once obese, now husky teen had been restricted in how he was able to pick on Kyle. Not only was his brace inhibiting him from speaking but there was also Kyle's new shadow who a bit overprotective of him. Said shadow had done many unspeakable things to Cartman, one of which delayed the healing process of Cartman's jaw fracture.

Unfortunately for Cartman, he never knew or learned when to quit.

Stan rolled his eyes at Cartman and returned his sight to Kyle in concern. He had no idea what Damien did with him behind closed doors but whatever it was, it seemed to take a lot out of Kyle. Not only that, his moods would fluctuate. One day he would so happy as if he had gotten laid and other days he would be so ambivalent, like he was right now. Now that he thought about it, he had never seen Kyle depressed yet…that and sometimes he would spot him with a limp that would clear up by the end of the day.

Okay, bad mental images there. Think about something else, Marsh. He searched their surroundings for something that could distract him from his disturbing thoughts and came upon Wendy right out of the blue. Yeah, there was his girlfriend…who was now his ex. It was an on and off relationship, too complicated for those who hadn't been there from the beginning to understand.

But…who was that she was talking to? He didn't believe he had seen that guy before and he felt his blood boiling a bit. Just who the hell was this guy and why was he talking with Wendy? Not to take a page out of Cartman's book, but he looked like a homo, what with the leather jacket and tight pants and what the hell was up with that hat? Leather and peaked style? Was he trying to give off the image that he was a wannabe porn star or something?

His eyes narrowed further; oh great, it was a blond with tan skin and he looked like he towered over Wendy. The way he moved gave Stan the impression that the guy was athletic and adding that in with his size, he wouldn't be surprised if the jack-off could snap her in two. Well, time to play hero, maybe get Wendy to like him enough to go out with him again.

"What's up?" Kenny asked, giving him a look. "It looks like someone pissed in your Kool-Aid or something."

"Or something," he agreed. "Wait here, I need to go do something."

"Stan?" Kenny called after him. "Where ya going?"

Ignoring the blond, Stan focused solely on the sight he didn't like. His dislike increased the closer he got as he was able to read from Wendy's posture that she was not in the least annoyed or irritated. Hey, when you go out with a girl since you were eight, you get to learn about their quirks, such as the signs of when they were irritated. Odd how Wendy seemed to be irritated in his presence more and more often…

Then there was the guy; he could make out now that the guy had good looks and he probably knew it too. He was probably trying to flirt with his girl and whatever he was doing, he was making Wendy like him.

This couldn't be allowed to go further.

"Hey Wendy!" he greeted, hoping he didn't sound pissed off or in any way possessive. His heart clenched slightly in dismay when he saw Wendy look over at him with annoyance. He could remember a time when she would look at him with nothing but love.

That was last Wednesday, right?

Well, whatever, he had more pressing issues right now and he didn't have time to dwell on the last time he had broken up with her. There was an asshole intruding on his territory and like any alpha male, he needed to show the ass who had the authoritah around here.

It looked like he had missed something that Wendy had said because her irritation levels seemed to have risen in the last few seconds. Whoops, well, he'd make it up to her later. "Who's this?" he asked, looking pointedly at the blond interloper. Now that he was closer, he got a good look at a gleaming pair of green eyes that had nothing but confidence in them. It was starting to piss him off just looking at him!

"Stan, did you hear me?" Wendy asked exasperatedly. Oops, he did it again.

"Sorry," he apologized, "but could you repeat that?"

"Rod Woods," the asshole spoke instead, holding a hand out for a shake. He stared at the hand for a minute but didn't bother shaking it. Instead he looked back up at this Rod asshole and who the hell names their kid Rod? With that hat, he really did look like a wannabe porn star. He probably wasn't even a virgin.

"Excuse this idiot," Wendy said apologetically to Rod, snapping Stan out of his rage to glance in surprise at the tone of voice his currently ex-girlfriend was using. "His name is Stan and we _used_ to go out."

"Oh, an ex," Rod said, nodding in understanding. "Yeah, this is a bit awkward isn't it?"

"Not at all!" Wendy protested. She spared at look at him and Stan could tell that he had messed up already, even though he had only just got here. Well this was going well, wasn't it? "You know what, maybe we could get together for a coffee or something," she suggested. "We could continue our conversation then."

"That sounds good," Rod replied, pulling out a cell phone. "Can I get your number? It'll be easier to set something up that way."

"Okay," Wendy agreed.

"Wendy!" Stan said aghast. She was giving him her number? Which one was it, though? Her home phone or her cell phone? He only had her home phone because during their middle school years, he had gotten into a phase where he called all the time, including at odd hours in the morning. Wendy had to change her number and once she did that, she refused to give it to him, not wanting a repeat incident. It had only been that one time! And that time in the seventh grade. And that time in eighth grade, but that one was the last time, he swore.

Wendy gave him a cautious glance then gestured for Rod to learn down, which he did. Stan widened his eyes in anger as she whispered her coveted cell number into that jackass' ear, said jackass putting it into his phone simultaneously and closing it up before he could get a look at it.

"Talk to you later!" she called after the guy as Rod took his leave and as Stan glared at his back, he became vaguely aware that he was in some kind of danger.

"Stan!" Wendy growled at him, bringing him back into the present moment…oh shit, he had screwed up, hadn't he?

"Hey, Wendy," he said awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. "Uh, do you want to go get a slurpie or something?"

"Stan," Wendy repeated, irritated.

Stan swallowed and wondered if he had updated his will recently. Whatever happened, his sister got nothing.

"I can't believe you!" she grounded out. "What was that all about?"

"I'm just worried about you!" he defended.

"Worried about what?" she shot back. "Me having a social life with other guys? It's not like I'm cheating on you Stan, we broke up remember?"

"I gave you your space, just like you asked," he argued.

"Oh? Then what was that just now?" Wendy demanded.

"Preserving your virtue?" he hazarded.

Wendy laughed in his face at that one. Really, that was uncalled for. He had given a lot of thought to that response.

"Stan, I lost that when I let you do me!"

Oh yeah, she wasn't a virgin either… Well, shit.

"Just stay away from me," she ordered him. "I need more than my space Stan, I need my privacy, so tell Kenny to get his cameras out of my room for me. I'm not going to feel invaded every time I change my outfit, okay?"

Aw…but he liked watching her change…

"Stan? Is your nose bleeding?" Wendy asked, her tone changing slightly in concern.

Oh crap, crap! Wiping the sign of betrayal, thankful that Wendy hadn't figured out what it meant, he said quickly, "I'll be okay. Just…just be careful around that guy. I don't trust him."

"Whatever," Wendy rolled her eyes at him and left.

Okay, he still seemed to be in one piece. Making sure that he really was, he trudged back to his friends who he now noticed had been watching him make an ass out of himself and prove to them that he was whipped. Christ, as he got closer he could see Kenny flicking his wrist and making a whipping sound.

Oh yeah? Well let's see how he liked this.

"She knows about the cameras Kenny," he told him frankly.

He had never seen tears come out of those perverted blue eyes so quickly…

* * *

Everyone has their pet peeves. Usually, people had several. For Rod, one of his was being cockblocked and that girl's ex fit the bill of being one. Oh well, scoring without the aid of alcohol took more effort than you would think. But he was more of the person that liked the "kill" part of the hunt and not the chase.

Still, there were other eye candy to look at so in the meantime, he supposed he would "shop" around and see what fish lived in this pond called South Park. Casually scanning his surroundings, doing his best not to get jostled by all the people around him, he spotted a curly-haired blonde girl that had curves all in the right places. There were quite a few other girls around her and most of them seemed to blur together to him but there were a couple that stuck out.

One was a brunette with various highlights of light brown and blond that meshed together in a way that it looked natural, not sloppy. Her skin was sun-kissed golden and her figure, oh it was every guys' wet dream! The red off-the-shoulder top and black tank top really did emphasize those features well and the way those jeans hugged her hips, it almost made him aroused. Her gait was long, a stride that advertised arrogance as well as trying to show off, screaming out to every guy in the vicinity that she was indeed "open" for business. And the way she was gesturing with a hand that was unburdened with shopping bags, he could tell she liked being the center of attention.

Nearby there was a slender blonde with waist length hair who seemed to ghost over the ground like only a girl who had attended beauty school would. The pastels were kinda blah but he wasn't that interested in how the clothes fit her but more on how much it revealed. She seemed like the traditional girl and from the way she was walking, he could see that she was comfortable at expressing feminine traits. It wouldn't take much, he supposed, to excite her but he wouldn't write her off so early.

He trailed them from afar, watching their every move until he spotted a point that he could cut them off at. It would be good to get their attention, give them a sample of what the Rodster could offer then pull back his hand and watch as they trampled one another vying for his attention.

It worked like a charm in Oregon and from what he had observed thus far, the girls weren't much different here either.

Taking his post, he looked away from the girls while keeping them in the corner of his eye, all the while thinking of how he could get their attention without making it look like he was making an effort. Natural, it had to be natural.

As it turned out, Lady Luck was on his side as the girl in the pastels tripped when the girl brunette in red's bags struck her shin. The girl stumbled ahead of the other two, giving him the space he needed to push away from the wall he was leaning against and catching her in his arms.

"Careful!" he admonished gently, giving the girl a gallant smile. The blonde looked straight up into his eyes and he knew he had her when her cheeks blushed slightly. He could feel her slight form and he felt a surge of power hit him; it wouldn't take too much to hurt her, really, and he needed to be careful as he had the impression that she bruised easily.

"Whoa! Hunk alert!" the brunette announced, her eyes raking over him, impressed with what she was seeing."

"Oh sure Devin, shout it out to the whole world," the curly blonde teased though she too was giving him an appraising look-over.

Meanwhile, the girl he was still holding up had yet to take her eyes off him while the other girls that trailed behind them were gossiping with one another, shooting him many furtive glances.

"Oh and you weren't thinking the same thing too," Devin replied smoothly, glancing at the curly blonde with a casual look. It seemed like this was a regular occurrence or something since it looked like the group of girls were splitting into two groups, each one backing the other girl.

"Shut up!" the curly blonde said with mock-anger. Giving him a look, the curly blonde said, "Thanks for catching Bonnie, though I haven't seen you around. You come here often?"

"It's my first time here," he told them with honesty, preening internally at the attention. "I'm new to the area and decided to go wander around. Good thing for Bonnie here, right?" he said, looking down at Bonnie again. Without using much strength, he balanced the girl back on her feet and then removed his hands from her carefully, as if she would shatter into a million pieces if he did one wrong move.

He could swear a couple girls were already swooning.

"Oh? Fresh meat?" Devin asked, her eyes taking on a predatorily glint. "You know, if you're up to it, we could show you around, help you get settled in."

"Fresh meat, huh?" he said. "Why does it feel like I suddenly surrounded by a bunch of lionesses?"

Yes, lay on the compliments, make them feel powerful; that's what gets the girls wanting more. Just whatever you do, don't turn the compliments towards you. You can't make them think you're full of yourself.

Devin grinned at him, baring her teeth and made a "raowr," sound, crooking her fingers to make them look like claws. Bonnie blushed and looked away from him, daring to peek at him now and then. The curly blonde shook her head though it wasn't in a negative, more like she was catching on to what he was doing. Okay, time to go but first, leave them wanting more.

Rod made his shoulders slump a bit and he looked off to a side, feigning slight sorrow. "As much as I'd like stick around, I gotta be going. My mom wants me to find something for her and since I was heading out this way, I thought why not? I don't have anything else better to do but I'm getting a little bit low on time so I'm going to have to ask for a rain check. Maybe some other time, right?"

"Oh? You always do what you're parents tell you to do?" Devin raised an eyebrow at him and for a moment he felt like he had made a wrong step. A couple of the other girls seemed a bit put off and he knew he needed to do damage control quickly.

"Not all the time," he sighed. "It just so happened that my mom threatened to take my credit cards away and freeze my bank account if I didn't. I mean yeah, it sucks but I figure why not do what she asks and I get to keep a little something for myself at the same time. Bribery, you know?"

"So your parents have some cash, huh?" the curly blonde asked. That seemed to perk others' interests up.

"Hell if I know," he shrugged. "They gave me the stuff a while back and haven't looked back since. If they don't care what I do with it, I might as well put them to good use, right?"

Devin nodded appreciatively at him and while the curly blonde remained neutral, he noticed that Bonnie was having a bit more of a negative reaction as she wasn't looking at him adoringly anymore. Well, you can't please them all but he figured he could do something about her in the future later.

"If you'll excuse me, I'll see you ladies later," he said as he moved away from them, not looking back. Well, not entirely, to tell the truth; he watched their reflections from one of the store windows and noted they were still watching him. As long as he didn't make it obvious that he was interested, the girls would come to him to find out. He kept the smirk that struggled to form at bay, not wanting to let anyone know just yet that he was pleased.

All that stuff about bank accounts and credit cards, sheesh, they bought almost anything nowadays, didn't they? While the credit cards were true, he had no such bank account anywhere but it was the impression that he could afford things that mattered here. He had found that quite a few girls were materialistic and they would only pay attention to you depending on what you could get for them.

Those were the easiest of all.

And believing that his mom of all people sent him here, feh. His mother didn't know where the hell he was most of the time and didn't care at all. She was no threat to him even if she did make a convenient excuse for him to use.

But he was bored of this place now so he might as well make good on his word and get out of here before that group of girls spotted him still here. He still had the illusion he needed to create and at this point, it was the most important thing he needed to do. Sometimes it was so much work making him so desired by girls everywhere but there was no way he was going to stay in this town without girls tearing each others' clothes off just to have him.

It was every guy's dream, who wouldn't want such a thing?

So with his destination set, he made his way through the mall, taking his time wading through the mass of people. He did his best to stay close to the wall so as not to be jostled too much and really, he wasn't in much of a hurry.

"There you are! Wait up Rod!"

He knew that voice, it was that Wendy chick. He hadn't expected her to hunt him down so soon but you know what, he was that damn good. If they were already coming after him after less than twenty minutes, would you have expected anything less from his talents? That's right, he was a stud and he knew it.

He came to a stop and turned around slowly, doing his best not to make it look like he was too eager. He could see the purple-clad girl coming up to him, two other girls at her side. What was this place, a buffet?

The first girl he observed was short with fair skin but generously gifted in the bust, light brown hair in ringlets and eyes the color of olives. She wore a red hoodie, unzipped, with a gray Allstars underneath it as well as a set of headphones around her neck, a small wire running down to an IPod that was hooked onto a belt loop on her jeans. From the way her eyes were giving him a disinterested look, he could tell that she was one of those "don't give a shit what you think" types. To be honest, those types weren't really attractive to him and they were usually dull to be around once you figured out the pattern of their thoughts. If you dated one, you've dated them all, not to say he wouldn't go after her anyway because tail was tail, you know?

The other girl was someone he would have doubted Wendy would hang around with, what with her brown hair all spiky with pink highlights though he gave her points on the black leather jacket and fingerless gloves. Her fashion sense was similar to his so she had to have good tastes, right? From appearances alone, he was guessing she was giving off a "tough girl" vibe even though she was looking at him curiously, probably wondering why Wendy would know him.

All in all, Wendy looked like the odd ball out but from the way she held herself, she was comfortable in their company. So maybe they had similar traits, perhaps? Well, time to do a little fishing.

"Didn't expect to see you so soon," he said heartily. "You're not being bothered by that guard dog of an ex, are you?" he asked with worry tingling in his voice. Since he had already interacted with her, he needed to retain some consistency. Subtle differences were one thing but acting like a completely different person was like sounding an alarm. He didn't want to give away that he was a player just yet.

"He should be cooling off now," Wendy said dismissively. "But I was just telling my friends about you and when I saw you over here, I thought might as well introduce you." Sweet, very sweet, she was cutting down the amount of work he needed to do. "This is Mari," she gestured to the girl with the headphones, "and this is Roxi," she patted the girl in the leather jacket on the shoulder. "Guys, this is Rod."

"Does that mean anything or are you making a reference?" Roxi piped up baring her teeth at him with a grin.

"Nah, it's just a nickname," he shrugged. "Someone called me that one day and it stuck."

"That's fascinating," Mari yawned, revealing that she was not in the bit interested. Well, she may be like that now… "Is this all Wendy? Are you looking for a new boyfriend?"

"Mari, you know I want to go solo right now," Wendy admonished. "And don't be rude! He's new to South Park so come on, make him feel welcome."

"The guys are going to tear him apart," Mari stated factually, eyes half lidded in what looked like boredom.

"Tear into him or just rip him apart?" Roxi asked.

Okay, he got the innuendo there. So the guys around here sounded like they didn't like outsiders. Hmm, all the more the challenge and he liked those.

"What's with the hat?" Roxi asked him, looking for all the world like an innocent child and out of place in that jacket of hers. "You're not secretly a porn star, are you?"

Alright, that was striking a bit too close to home there. He rolled his eyes and asked back, "Not everyone who wears these has some kind of bondage fetish Rox. I just like wearing the hat, anything wrong with that?"

Roxi was nodding approvingly at him yet there was no blush on her cheeks like Wendy's even though that may have been more out of embarrassment than anything else. Mari on the other hand didn't seem to care. Well, he just loved going after those hard-to-get girls. Made it all the more worth it when he scored.

"You might not want to wear that at school," Wendy warned him. "Most of the guys in our class, the whole senior class that is, are a bunch of dicks."

"Yeah, in junior year they picked on a kid with amnesia," Mari said unexpectedly as she put her headphones over her ears, one hand going down to press a button on the IPod at her hip.

"Mari, you picked on him too," Wendy deadpanned, Mari shrugging her shoulders like it wasn't a big deal. Hmm, this school sounded like a rough place.

"Yeah but he locked us up in the gym and froze us," Roxi added as she wrapped her arms around herself, shuddering visible as if struck with a bout of cold air. "You know, they say he also stabbed and killed Principal Estrada."

"And he got it all blamed on the Governator," Wendy finished.

Huh, who was this guy they were all talking about? From the way their voices were kinda hushed, it was like they were afraid of being overheard by someone. Mari, though, didn't look like she cared a bit. Things were getting interesting here.

"Uh, who are you guys talking about?" he asked, putting some confusion into his voice. It wasn't hard to do that as the confusion was actually real and not something he was faking.

"Oh, nobody," Wendy said quickly. "You don't need to worry about, just stick with us and you'll be fine."

"Yeah, our school has a lot of weirdoes," Roxi agreed.

"That's comforting," he said, his voice cracking slightly.

"For the most part, it's cool," Wendy rushed in to say as if she was hoping she hadn't scared him off. "Just stay away from the seniors and you should be good."

"But what if I'm a senior?" he asked.

Roxi made this face as if an unpleasant thought had occurred to her but it was Wendy's reaction he was most concerned about. The dark-haired girl shook her head and gave him a solemn look. "You're a senior, aren't you? Of all the places to graduate from, it has to be here."

Oh. Oh, it was one of those "this is the worst place you could ever live" kind of thing. All right, he was in the clear.

"Must be tough," Roxi said, "moving away for your senior year in a place you probably never heard of, away from all your old friends and everything."

"I figure it could be worse," he shrugged, trying to put up a strong front. "My parents could be dead and I'm shipped halfway across the country for my senior year."

"You know, you have a point," Wendy acknowledged. "When you put it like that, yeah there could be worse things. Though, just know that if you need anything, you can come to me for it. Trust me, you're going to need it."

"Okay," he said simply, not sure of how to take that.

"Look, flirt with him on your own time," Mari suddenly snapped. "I'm bouncing."

"I was leaving anyway so I'll go," he hastily said. Then, curving his lips to give the trio a warm smile, he added, "I'll keep in touch, okay?"

He could see the way Roxi was blushing slightly, how Wendy was smiling back at him but also affected. Even though Mari was looking away, he could tell he was affecting her. She would peek at him every so often and quickly look away, as if too afraid to look at him for too long.

"I guess I'll see you guys at school, if I don't see you before then," he said as he took his leave. Once again, he did not look behind himself and, unfortunately, there was no store window that was thick enough to give him a reflection of those girls so he had no idea if they were still watching him or going about their business like he hadn't had an effect on them. It peeved him a bit that he wasn't going to know what they were doing but he was sure that he had left a good impression.

The change from the heated building and out into the cooler outdoors was striking but he did his best not to betray any weakness. Who knew who else was watching and it would not be beneficial if he did such a thing in front of people he did not know but would meet later in the near future?

First impressions were everything.

* * *

From the second story of the mall, Stan glared down where he saw that blond bastard walk away from his ex and his hands tightened on the hand railing. Beside him, Kenny was also watching the proceedings but every now and then he would give him a look before looking back at the scene.

If he had paid the blond any attention, he would have seen a knowing smirk on that pervert's face but since he was too focused on Wendy, he didn't.

He didn't need to look at Cartman to know the fat boy was enjoying his internal anguish. He had to admit that that jaw brace or whatever it was called was a Godsend right now. He wouldn't have to listen to any of Cartman's taunts and even if he had to, the fatass wouldn't be able to say them fluidly enough to get on his nerves.

On his other side, Kyle patted his shoulder in sympathy. "Forget about it dude, it's nothing," the Jew tried to tell him but the piece of advice went through one ear and out the other.

Instead, he said, "Guys, let's give this asshole hell next week."

It was so on.

* * *

Over the short amount of time Rod had spent in this hick town, he had learned one very important thing. When riding his motorcycle around, do not rev the engine too loud. A few townsfolk had ganged up on him and started calling him a fag out of nowhere. He had stayed home for a bit, waiting to see if the heat had gone down before venturing out on his bike again.

He had to be careful; people in these parts did not like people who drove motorcycles for some reason. He guessed he was lucky that he made sure his pride and joy was in tip top shape and didn't make a lot of noise when he drove it. There was no sense in riling up the locals now was there?

Anyway, he was cruising down the streets of South Park, in no particular hurry or heading to any particular place. He didn't feel like going home but he didn't know where else he could go in this town so cruising seemed to be the best thing to do.

As he drove around the homes, a blur of pink caught his eye and he slowed down. There, up ahead, it was the video store girl. Ah what perfect timing, and she was on her way to work it seemed. Maybe now he could score some more points with her. Since she wasn't heading to a car or the garage, he supposed that she was on her way to a bus stop or going to a friend's house. It'd be ridiculous if she tried to walk all the way to the video store, crossing the dangerous highway just to get there.

He came to stop and took his helmet off, immediately catching her attention as he shook his head, his golden locks ruffling in the air. He smiled at her, internally reveling at how she blushed at him. Oh, so she remembered him, huh? This made this easier.

"I thought I recognized that hair," he called out to her. "Heading to the store? Need a ride?"

"Oh, it's you!" the girl gasped, recognizing him. "Did…did you like the movies?" she asked, looking away from him like she was a little school girl. Oh damn, this was just too easy.

"Haven't watched them all yet but I have to say, you have some peculiar tastes," he told her, giving her a confident smile. She was practically like putty in his hands right now. "But I asked if you needed a ride."

"I just take the bus," she answered honestly. Called it. "But I guess I could…if it's safe."

"Of course it's safe," he assured her, "and tell you what, I'll pick you up and take you home when your shift is up, alright? Or do you just want to do your own thing?"

"Would you?" she asked hopefully. "I'd asked if a friend would take me but I…uh, I don't really have many."

"Hey, it's okay," he told her. "Just tell me when you get off and I'll be there. Now hop on, alright?"

She shifted nervously and peered at him shyly. Now what was it? "This is all going too fast," she mumbled though he was still able to hear her. "I don't even know your name."

He smiled warmly at her. Oh, so it was just a little getting to know you jitters. Well this was certainly easy to fix. "The name's Rod." Chuckling, he added, "Funny, I don't know your name either. Looks like we're kinda in the same boat, huh? Well, we were at any rate."

He could have sworn she was giggling but that was good in his books. As long as he made her feel comfortable with him…

"Sunny," she said sweetly and that was when he knew he had her.

"Like a sunny day, huh?" he commented. "Wait, don't tell me that your last name is Day."

"It's Grain," she answered though she wasn't put off by him saying that in the slightest.

"Well Sunny, let's do this," he said, scooting upwards on his bike to make more room for her. "I don't want you to be late now."

Goddamn it, he was so good.

* * *

It wasn't long before Kyra found herself being swept into the food court by none other than Wendy Testaburger once she had set foot in the South Park Mall, Gary Harrison on her heels. The next thing she knew, she was being shoved down into a chair, her long brown hair trailing after her, and she was being faced by two girls that unknowingly intimidated her. Mari Evans was just one of those girls whom you did not want to be on their bad side even though you had no idea what they were capable of while Roxann Thame, or Roxi as everyone called her, had that biker look what with the leather jacket and all.

Why did these three girls who seemed so different hang out with one another? Well, at least she had Gary close by. The taller blond had also been taken off guard by Wendy's sudden appearance but he hadn't let her out of his sights, a very comforting thought mind you.

It was funny, a few months ago she never would have thought she would have made friends with Gary the Mormon kid but strangely enough, it was their similar help-those-in-need traits that brought them together in the first place. No, they were not boyfriend and girlfriend, they were just friends and they were both content with that. As a result, she knew he had her back and she had his and besides, she knew Gary didn't stand in the running for any romantic interest she had.

That was all reserved for one guy who, sigh, didn't seem to know she existed, a very depressing thought.

But back to the matter at hand, what was it that Wendy wanted with her and maybe Gary? Ever since April she hadn't really been around the raven-haired girl, which coincidentally was about the time she became friends with Gary.

"Kyra, I'm so glad you could make it," Wendy greeted her as she took a seat. Huh, she was planning on coming here anyway, get some school stuff you know.

She blinked her brown eyes in confusion, wonder just what it was had Wendy wanting to talk with her.

"Kyra, there's a new guy in town," Wendy told her frankly. Oh, a new kid? So what did this have to do with her, not that she didn't care mind you. "I think he might be in a bit of trouble and if he isn't, he's going to be."

Ooh, now she was getting what Wendy was trying to get at.

"Wendy," Mari groaned, "why don't you just get on your hands and knees and blow him already?"

"Okay, I think everyone got the innuendo there," Roxi said.

"I wasn't trying to be subtle," Mari huffed.

"Um, okay, is there something you want?" Kyra asked, hoping to get things back on track. "Why do you think this new kid is going to be in trouble?"

"Kyra, babe," Wendy said seriously, "you can't tell me you haven't watched how the guys treat new kids, especially if they are boys. They are going to pick on and bully this guy like he was a new slab of meat in a prison full of horny convicts. I…know you have experience with helping others who are being picked on so…"

Oh, so that was where she was going.

"I think Gary's more of the person to talk to than me," she said, looking over to her larger, blonder, and overall more Mormon companion.

"Oh, feeding me to the wolves, huh?" Gary teased.

"I'm being serious here!" Wendy protested. "Stan saw me talking with him and you know how jealous he can get."

Kyra swallowed. Oh…Stan was involved, huh? She was suddenly feeling less sure of herself, something odd for somebody who beat God in a game of Wii golf and the entity was somehow cheating the whole time. Hey, it wasn't that big of a deal; she pwned n00bs all the time anyway so even if it was an omnipresent being that she was playing, her gaming skillz were on a level all on their own.

Still, she couldn't help but think it a bit odd that Wendy was trying to help out someone who was about to walk into the gauntlet when she wanted to get involved with the bullying campaign against a fellow student who had received amnesia. True, he turned them all into ice cubes in retaliation but she couldn't say in good conscience that they didn't deserve it.

"The best way to look out for this guy is to stay between him and the guys," Gary told Wendy. "I mean, why would those guys want to hurt you? If you are in the line of fire, they are less likely to do something. Unless they're Cartman."

"I can handle Cartman," Wendy stated. "Are you sure I can't just tell them all to back off or something?"

"That'll encourage them," Gary answered, "unless he does something big and cool that makes them respect him. I guess a good part of it depends on him and if he'll take it or not."

"Damn, he is so screwed," Wendy sighed.

"Relax Wends," Rox spoke. "Rod seems like a good guy. Plus he's big guy; who knows, he might show the dicks at school that he's no one to mess with."

Kyra shared a look with Gary, both of them raising an eyebrow at each other. Rod? What the hell kind of name was that? And big? Gary was a big guy as well but what did they mean when they said he was big?

Maybe they should get the full story here…

* * *

Devin Brasch: **ForNever21**

Bonnie Snyder: **PinkParka**

Mari Evans: **MrMissMrs Random**

Roxann "Roxi" Thame: **RoxandCore**

Kyra McCloud: **-Beyond The Horizon-**


	3. First Day of School

Author's Note: No more OCs, I've got so many that I'm in danger of overload. If you can't tell by now, another gap of time has passed and a few more OCs are introduced, one of which I asked permission to use from Zephyr Morpheus Lee quite some time ago. ZML, I hope I have him right. Also, if your OCs don't get a lot of screen time here, don't worry. There will be plenty of chapters and opportunities so keep reading and asking questions. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

First Day of School

The first day of school was a day that stuck out in the school year as it held perhaps the largest amount of newness that one could feel at school. It wasn't like coming back to school after the Christmas holidays because that was just picking up where you left off; no a new routine, new classes, and sometimes new teachers was what awaited you when you entered the doors of school which either brought you a sense of anticipation or depression.

For Charlie, it was a kind of combination of the two, so much so that she really didn't feel any different other than feeling incredibly tired after having to wake up at an ungodly hour. She wasn't a morning person and it wasn't often you'd find her awake before at least eleven in the morning.

She put the blame mostly on the shoulders of her best friend, Christophe DeLorne, aka ze Mole. Much to her surprise he had shown up at her house while her mother was fixing her sisters some breakfast, Tammy naturally loud and bright as she talked about going into the second grade while Stella was in a world of her own, IPod ear buds fixed into her ears and blocking out most noise.

Christophe had greeted her mother and then climbed the stairs up to her room where he rudely woke her up. It would only be after she was walking out the front door that she learned the reason for this; Christophe had decided to actually attend school this year instead of doing his default and playing hookie for most of the year, hacking into the school computer system and changing his grades and tardies around so that it looked like he had attended and passed all his classes.

She gathered that maybe it was because he didn't have a lot of job offers lined up but it could have been due to a situation involving a certain set of twins that she knew he was friends with. She was usually too swept up with the events going on in her life that she didn't know all the details about it.

So there she was, entering South Park High with her best friend at her side. It was only now that she noticed that he was conspicuously single and no girlfriend at his side. Oh yeah, hadn't he broke up with one last semester?

Whatever, she was more concerned with plotting interesting ways to disembowel him for the rude awakening he had given her earlier.

Still, it would be an experience now that there were some changes in the school. With Principal Estrada gone and no illegal immigrants with close to the right qualifications, the school district had to get a legit educator to fill the role. It would be interesting to see how whoever they got to do this would do things. There was no way they could be worse that Estrada.

Or maybe they could be as they were confronted with the sight of a very irritated Mr. Garrison. The balding, middle-aged man was seated behind a folding table, large bags under his eyes as if he wasn't getting enough sleep, looking as if he would snap if someone made one wrong move.

Charlie felt despair well up slightly as she saw the piece of paper that was taped to the table with the words "Student Schedules."

The sexually ambiguous educator's eyes lit up as they landed on her and she steeled her resolve, preparing for some kind of scathing comment that she knew was coming.

And she wasn't disappointed.

"Oh look what the cat dragged in," Garrison scoffed. "It's the psycho bitch who keeps calling me n00b, whatever the hell that is, and is that your boyfriend? Word of advice pal, run. Run as far away and as fast as you can. She's a succubus, I swear."

She didn't need to look at Christophe to know he was frowning at the man and to be honest, she did not want to be in Garrison's presence longer than needed. She hadn't liked him years ago before she left this town, fleeing from Jack, and she still didn't like him when she had returned late for their sophomore year.

"Look, just give me my schedule so that we don't have to see each other's face longer than needed," she said quickly before an "issue" could be made. She thought that was a fair compromise.

Garrison, apparently, didn't. "Oh, want to get back to sucking the lifeforce out of some poor guy through his penis? Good thing I'm handing out anti-succubus repellant to all the guys and the lesbos. So yeah, go on ahead and get sprayed, just tell me what your name is so that you can get out of my face."

She sighed; assholes were difficult to deal with early in the morning. "White."

"Yes, I know you're white but what is your name?" Garrison asked.

She was seriously regretting not letting Christophe beat the living shit out of him. "It's Charlotte White, you n00b. I'd thought you would know my name by now."

"Good heavens, no," Garrison replied. "The only reason I'm teaching high school is so that I wouldn't have to remember any new names. Who knew I'd have to teach more snot-nosed brats that weren't even in my old class?" Finally pulling out the desired piece of paper, he slapped it on the table in front of Charlie. "There you go, hussy. Now get along already. I'm sick of looking at your face already."

Her sentiments exactly.

"Okay, what about you big boy?" Garrison directed towards Christophe. "You stickin' around or are you going to skedaddle out of here?"

In reply, Christophe just stated, "Christophe DeLorne."

Rolling his eyes, Garrison searched for the right schedule. "Great, another loser. Good luck, Chuck, don't say I didn't warn you," he said as he pulled out the correct schedule and slammed it on the table.

The two of them were hurrying away not because they were intimidated but because neither wanted to chat with Garrison's "sparkling" personality. As soon as they turned a corner, they came to a stop, visibly relaxing and recovering from their ordeal.

"I pray to God or whatever higher power that is out there that I don't have to deal with that asshole this year," Charlie groaned out.

"You an' me both," Christophe agreed. "So now what do we go do, Charlie?"

"Well, besides hang out until first period," Charlie shrugged, "compare schedules, I guess. See if we're together in any of them."

"Ah, ze old tradition," Christophe mused. "Very well. Hopefully I am not in any class wiz zat _wheezle_ of yours."

Charlie rolled her eyes at that. Christophe was never going to get along with Bain, was he? Though, it wasn't like he didn't have any reason to like him. Thanks to Christophe standing in his way, preventing him from killing Rhiannon Edwards, he had earned a lifetime worth of enmity from the smaller teen. Speaking of which, where was he? She was sure she would have run into him by now.

"Et is a shame," Christophe sighed. "We only share two classes this year, _oui_? Oh well, I guess we'll have to make ze best of et."

Damn, he was right. She had spaced out there for a minute and it had taken her best friend to say something to her to snap her out of her daze and take a good look at their schedules. Well, she supposed that at least their lockers were close to one another, they could meet up in-between periods.

"Shall we go locker hunting?" Christophe suggested.

"Not a bad idea," she mused, snatching a glance at a nearby row of lockers and figuring out that hers wasn't among them. "Hopefully they're not at the other side of the school."

"_Oui_," Christophe agreed, nodding his head.

As they set off, they could hear the front doors to the school opening again, soon followed by Garrison "greeting" whoever it was that came in. It sounded like somebody else was here, meaning that soon enough the hallways were going to be packed and noisy.

Not a pleasant thing no matter where or who you were.

Taking their time, they first came across Christophe's locker though the Frenchman didn't open it right away. Instead, he leaned against it and crossed hi arms, making himself at home, a small smirk on his face. Immediately, she knew that he knew something she didn't.

"Okay, I give, what is it," she asked, not in the mood for playing games this early in the day. Honestly, you had to be a morning person like that Mormon kid Gary.

"Nozhing," Christophe said innocently though she didn't buy the act for a minute. "I just spotted your locker for you."

"Oh? And where is it?" she asked dryly. How could he already know where it was when she hadn't found it yet?

Christophe just tilted his head to a side and gestured in a direction with it. She followed where he was trying to point her and soon enough, she came across her locker for the year. It didn't look like any of the neighboring ones, especially since there was a hole in it like someone had taken an axe and cut into it. Around the hole, the thin metal dented, telling her someone had put quite a bit of force into making it.

There was only one person she knew who would do something like this and really, she thought they were past this already.

"Great, I just know the assholes here are going to charge me for this," she grumbled, rolling her eyes. But really, what kind of security would she have for her books and school stuff with this fucking hole? Sure, the sides looked a bit jagged so that anyone sticking their arm through it would tear off a good portion of their skin but she was not comfortable with it.

Still, she might as well open it, see if there was anything else that she could complain to the school about it. She was starting to think that Garrison gave her this particular locker out of spite even though she knew he had no access to that sort of thing.

Opening the door to the locker, her eyes trailed down immediately to something laying at the bottom. What the…was that a…?

Indeed it was. Laying right there for anybody to see was a withered rose, its petals blackened with age. There was really only one person who would give something like this out and oddly enough, she couldn't help but be a bit awed by it. Looks like someone was trying to make a romantic statement; damn it, he just loved shaking her off her A-game, lived for it even.

"Still trying to woo you, eh?" Christophe commented from beside her.

"Yep," she agreed, nevertheless taking the rotten rose from her locker gently like it was a valuable treasure that needed to be preserved.

For some reason, this just brightened up her day…

* * *

As the time for the first period warning bell drew near, South Park High slowly began to fill up as students were forced from their beds and slumber to get dressed and enter an elementary version of the penal system. Some were more excited than others, others more mourning the loss of late bedtimes and late morning waking-ups.

For once, Stan was of the former category, though it was for something completely different than the others. He was on the lookout for that blond kid he had seen at the mall and had promptly forgotten his name. Since it was the first day of school, he knew that spreading rumors of a new kid would be worthless as people were more tolerant of change on the first day of school.

Any new kid who showed up on the first day of school had a "get out of being bullied" free card and was mainly exempted from being picked on for being "the new kid."

He knew his friends were in on this even though their effectiveness was in question. Kyle, out of character enough, was not here yet, Kenny was being Kenny and staring at all the girls who were wearing some of the skimpiest clothes they would ever wear before covering themselves in long sleeves and coats, and Cartman was fascinated with his own jaw.

Ever since he had gotten that brace taken off, he was in awe of what he could do with his own jaw. For example—

"Ey, you guys! Look at what my jaw can do! See? If you lower it, you can move it side to side. Amazing, huh? Look, look! There! It's incredible!"

No further explanations were necessary.

Where the hell was Kyle? Better yet, where the hell was that asshole? He hadn't seen hide nor hair of either of the two and he didn't know which one was more annoying. The absence of his best friend or the absence of a flirting dick.

Scratch that last part, there was Kyle. It was really unlike him not to be here early.

"Sorry I'm late," Kyle panted as he bent over, hands on his knees and breathing like he had just run a marathon. "I…" he started before pausing and looking at Cartman as the once fat now husky teen was playing with his jaw. Staring at the spectacle for a minute, he looked back at his best friend and continued, "I woke up late. Missed the bus, had to catch a ride with a friend."

"Let me guess, Damien?" Kenny asked though there was a lewd undertone in his voice. When Kyle looked away, blushing, the blond sighed and said, "Figures."

Oh great, Kyle's boyfriend was probably getting a quickie from him and—oh goddamn it, bad mental images! Must erase! Must! Erase!

"Kenny, stop talking about Kyle's sex life," he ordered. You would think that this would be an odd thing for him to say but really, when you knew that Kenny McCormick was one of the biggest perverts in town, as well as the one person who had more sex on a regular basis than anybody else, such a statement wasn't really that odd.

"We have better things to do," he added for good measure.

"What thing is better than getting laid?" Kenny asked aloud.

Actually…that was a very good question. However, it was one that would have to be answered by wiser heads than theirs. They had other things to do, other interesting things that were more of a present nature than they were of a future one. What was it he was doing? Oh right, getting back at that blond asshole he had seen talking with Wendy last week.

Right, he was back on track now. Now, just where was that asshole anyway? He knew he was a new student here so it would be logical that he would be able to spot him easily from a group of people he had grown up with.

"Uh, why are we just standing around?" Kyle asked tentatively. "Stan? Are you looking for someone?"

"Eh, he's just looking for that kid he saw talking with Wendy," Kenny shrugged. "I'm really starting to think he was serious about picking on him."

"Don't we always pick on new kids?" Kyle wondered.

"But of course we do, my ignorant little Jew," Cartman said, for once not marveling at his jaw. "It's how we tell who are the outsiders and who aren't. It's a sacred tradition of all kids passed down through the generations and it is our sacred duty to uphold it."

"Now I know that's bullshit," Kyle deadpanned, "and maybe we ought to leave this kid alone. Remember those other kids we made fun of? The Antichrist, who by the way ruined your birthday party Cartman, that Mormon kid, who made us think that Stan was gay, and that Muslim kid that really wasn't part of England's terrorist plot to have Hillary Clinton transport a snuke up her snizz."

"Ey! I saved all our lives on that last one," Cartman interrupted, glaring at Kyle. "What are you? Becoming a dickless pussy or something? Oh wait that's right, you're taking it up the ass from a demonic butt pirate so you must already be a girl if not an honorary one."

"Cartman, stop right there," Kyle snapped. "If you're going where I think you're going, I warn you not to go further. It'll end in my temporary humiliation and you a more permanent one that will haunt you for the rest of your days as well as spark some kind of anti-gay movement that'll probably involve an in-the-closet Alec Baldwin. We go through something like this in half of our episodes so why make the same mistakes again and again and not learn a goddamn thing from it?"

"There he is!" Stan exclaimed suddenly, his eyes alight with fervent passion as he spotted his target. There he was, towering over all the other students, only the jocks getting anywhere close to his height. Damn, he was big but that made him stick out like a sore thumb. For a moment, Stan hesitated, not wanting to acknowledge that he was a bit intimidated of picking on a guy bigger than him but he shook that off as he recalled the anger he still felt.

It didn't matter if the guy was ten feet tall, he was fucking going down.

Kenny whistled. "Is that really the same guy? He's huge!"

"Thanks for pointing that out Kenny," he replied sarcastically, not taking his eyes off the asshole. He had been waiting for this for almost a week…

"Dang, he's sexy," Kenny continued to comment. "Huh, who's that hanging off his arm?"

Stan blinked; he had been in the middle of trying to block Kenny out when that last question managed to pierce through his mental defenses. Now that the asshole was closer, he could indeed see that he was not alone. An arm clad in a black leather jacket, the limb was awkwardly settled on the shoulders of a girl with pink hair. Awkward because she was literally so much shorter than him so the effect was kinda messed up there.

Had…had he already scored a girlfriend? But it was only the first day of school! What the fuck?

"Kenneh, you are so fucking gay," Cartman said, rolling his eyes before narrowing them at the asshole. "And that guy is such a fag. A gay fag. You know, I saw him riding around on a Harley Davidson the other day? I thought we had already run out all the fags but it looks like we missed one."

Another thing to add on to the list of things he didn't like about this asshole, that stupid peaked hat perched on those messy yet styled blond locks of his being number one. He didn't know why, he just didn't like that hat.

"Hey, isn't that Sunny Dee?" Kyle asked.

Sunny Dee? Unleash the power of the sun Sunny Dee? Oh yeah, that's who the pink-haired girl was! Damn, he hadn't recognized her for a bit. He didn't know what her real name was but then again, most girls' names he didn't remember because he was usually hooked up with Wendy. He had no reason to learn other girls' names since he wasn't going to be dating them any time in the future and he hadn't shared Garrison's class with them while in Elementary.

"Wow, he works fast," Kenny said. "Even I haven't been able to tap her yet."

"Is that because you forget she exists too?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah, pretty much," Kenny agreed.

"Seriouslah, you guys, you are sounding like girls," Cartman grunted. "Stop talking about useless shit and begin thinking of something we can do to this guy. I have about a thousand already and…whoa, did you see that, you guys? I breathed through my mouth! Isn't it awesome?"

Great, just when it looked like Cartman was about to be useful for once, Stan thought to himself. What did he have to do to get someone to help him out on this, huh? It shouldn't be this hard!

* * *

By nature, Sunny had a bit of a shy side, something that was compounded by the circumstances she found herself in.

It was the first day of school and she was side by side with the most handsome guy she had ever set her eyes on. She was more used to being in the background, standing there like a wallflower and not being on anyone's radar. She had received a lot of attention from everyone when she had first moved to this town…what was it again? A year? Two years? Four? Regardless, they had been attracted to her initially by the color of her hair.

Apparently, from what she learned later, her hair had saved her from being the school piñata as well as the following disappointment that everyone had when they found out she wasn't as outgoing as her hair. She was naturally calm and mild tempered, well behaved, and had a habit of keeping to herself. The only people who really knew her was her family but outside of that, she was essentially a nobody.

It wasn't something that bothered her, actually. She didn't care that she wasn't the most popular or important person in school and that was mainly because such a thing didn't mean anything to her. And it was something that she didn't broadcast to everyone at the same time. She noticed a lot of things since she was left alone most of the time and one of the things she noticed was that the people who claimed to not care what anybody thought about them surrounded themselves with so many other like-minded people. They tried to stand out so much that they failed to stand out.

But now here she was, standing out once again in the eyes of every person in school. She could feel the eyes of all the other girls boring into her, more than likely wondering who she was and what the hell she was doing with someone like Rod. It was a bit intimidating for the shy girl to say the least.

"Loosen up," Rod told her as he draped an arm around her shoulder. "You look so tense. Do you always get this way on the first day?"

Yeah, it had definitely been a surprise to find Rod waiting for her in front of her house, offering her a ride to school. After having ridden on that motorcycle of his once, she was eager to ride again and had agreed without a second thought.

So here they were and now she was beginning to think that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't a good idea to be seen with Rod like this. She could swear that she saw Devin Brasch glaring at her and it made her real nervous. Was she violating some unwritten rule or something? This was a reason why she didn't like to be the center of attention. So many bad things always came with it. Plus popular people were usually killed off in horror movies.

"Nervous?" Rod asked, sounding as if he was reading her mind. "Don't worry about these guys, they're just jealous. Ignore them, they don't mean anything."

She was finding his words soothing and every time she heard his voice, she could feel her heart beating faster. This was so intense; no guy had ever given her such attention before and she was so unused to it.

"Let's see," Rod mused as he held his schedule up to his face with his other hand. "Gunn? I wonder who that is? Which class do you have first?"

Huh? What was he…? Oh, right, he must be talking about class. Well, let's see, where did she need to go? "Um, I think we have the same class first," she said quietly.

"Really? That's cool," Rod said. "You know where to go?"

Staring back at her schedule, she nodded. "Yes, it sounds like it's over that way so…"

"Lead the way, Sunny," Rod said encouragingly, giving her a warm smile that made the butterflies in her stomach more chaotic in their fluttering. Huh, would they burst out of body with a spray of blood and force her intestines to leak out from the hole?

"Hey, Sunny," Rod interrupted her thoughts. "You kinda spaced out there for a bit. Something wrong?"

Her heart fluttered at the concern she saw into those brilliant green eyes; he was worried about her? "N-no, nothing important," she said quickly, stuttering a bit much to a shame.

Rod, though, seemed satisfied with her answer and maybe a bit amused at her response. Nonetheless, he said, "Well, I'm new here and don't know where I'm suppose to go. Lead me?"

She swallowed and nodded shyly. This was so much, almost too much for her to handle. But she had seen so many other girls with boyfriends, seen them talk with each other, make out in public, and once walked in on a couple doing it in the girl's bathroom. She would be lying if she said she wasn't the least bit curious about what that was like.

So yes, she would lead him, his arm draped on her shoulder as she showed him the way to class. She really felt like things were going to work out in a good way for her.

* * *

Rod really didn't have a type, per se, but he was always amused by the antics of all the shy girls he had been with. No matter how many times he watched them flail beneath his attention, he would never be able to get enough as they sought to understand the confusion that surrounded them.

They were just so vulnerable…

As he walked side by side with Sunny, he took in the various people that crowded and flowed around them, picking out those people who piqued his interest. He recognized Bonnie putting things away in a locker while in another direction he could spy out Devin watching both him and Sunny. Hmm, he might have to look into her if those looks of hers were anything to go by.

He spotted a girl with black hair tied into a bun and large, confident, blue eyes that were half-lidded in lethargy and the most juicy looking lips he had ever seen. Her attire was dark, mostly, her hoodie a pattern of checkered blocks, which inadvertently brought out the eye shadow and mascara she had on which he had missed earlier. He knew he would have to check up on her later.

There was another girl walking by and he was a bit curious about the flipflops that peaked out from under blue jeans. Her plaid-colored sweater, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, was a bit of an eye-raiser as he had never seen a girl willingly wear something so…masculine and preppy, he supposed. That chocolate brown hair was something he had the urge to comb his fingers through to see if it was as soft as it looked. Then he spotted something that made him do a double-take; was that an Adam's apple? Holy crap, that was a fucking guy!

…not the weirdest thing he had seen or done and he made a mental note to learn more about this example of androgyny. He had always heard about it before but had never really put much stock into it…

Wait, was that a flash of black and purple? Ah, there she was, Wendy. He succeeded in keeping a grin from splitting his face open at the sight of her. Oh pretty little Wendy, the things he wanted to do to you…

He turned his attention back to Sunny quickly, checking to be sure he hadn't missed anything during his quick exploration and was pleased to learn that she hadn't noticed him straying. That was another reason why he liked shy girls; you could stick with them and they wouldn't really notice if you were checking someone else out without looking at you.

Eventually, she led him to a classroom that he supposed belonged to Gunn or whatever he called himself and as soon as they were in the room, he took charge and led her to a seat before taking one for himself at the side of the classroom. There, now he had a good view of both her and any others that might catch his attention.

With that, he kept an eye on the door, watching as other teens continued to trickle in, all the while lavishing attention onto Sunny who was looking at the surface of her desk, her face blushing brightly. Heh, why was he surprised that she was so easily flustered? It gave him the feeling that she was very sensitive, another plus for her as he definitely liked sensitive girls. They were always so responsive that it was fun to mess with them.

He was rudely jerked out of his thoughts as the bell rang and he noticed an ugly man with a walker at the front of the classroom. Christ, he looked like a fucking toad! …though he had woken up next to worse… But he didn't like those beady eyes that peered from that slim, toady face. It was like he was a fat guy at an all-you-can-eat buffet for $3.99 at the Country Kitchen Buffet.

"Welcome back, kiddies," the man who was obviously the teacher sneered at them. "Today, as you know, marks the end of your freedom. Yes, it's time to get back to drudgery and give up all your hopes and dreams.

"Now, there are some faces I recognize here, faces that I've seen around, and a couple I have never seen before. From what I hear, one of you is a Golden Adonis." Those beady eyes landed on him and he tensed up. He didn't like how those eyes seemed like they were peering deep in his soul and picking him apart, taking all his secrets and scattering them around like they were newspaper pamphlets for everyone to read. He straightened up in his seat and traded the man look for look.

"Some spine, huh pretty boy?" the teacher commented, not in the least bit intimidated. "What say you, kids, we give him the test, eh?"

"Yes, Dr. Gunn," the rest of the class intoned boredly, as if they were used to this man's antics. Even though their voices sounded like they rather be somewhere else, their eyes were telling a different story as they were all boring straight into him.

Gunn chuckled as he turned towards a diagram that rested against the outdated chalkboard that Rod was sure schools didn't use anymore and—holy shit, who the hell was that? That had to be the most fucking beautiful woman he had ever seen! _Ever_.

"Stand please," Gunn said sadistically. He glanced back at the teacher, then to the diagram, then to Sunny who was giving him a worried look before he shrugged his shoulders and stood up. "Good boy," Gunn said, "now, tell me, if you woke up one morning with breasts and a vagina, what would you do?"

Rod blinked; what the hell kind of question was that? He noticed how everyone seemed to be on the edge of their seats, waiting for his answer as if he would determine the fate of the world. Maybe there was more to this than he thought. Looking back at the diagram of that fucking beautiful woman whose pose suggested that she didn't know she was having her picture taken (that and he could spot bush leaves on the edges of the picture), he thought hard about his answer.

"Well? Hurry up!" Gunn demanded. "We don't have all class for you to use that pitiful excuse you call a brain. Answer!"

"Well, Mr. Gunn," he began only to be interrupted by said teacher.

"It's doctor!" the man glared at him. "You do not call me 'Mr.,' you call me 'Dr.' 'Dr. Gunn' and nothing else! I have a doctorate you know!"

Okay, someone was trying to compensate for something. "Sorry, _Dr._ Gunn," he corrected, "if I was too wake up as a girl…I would call my girlfriend and see what it's like to have lesbo sex."

Dr. Gunn blinked at him as if such an answer hadn't occurred to him. He looked back at the diagram then back at him. "Interesting…answer…" Dr. Gunn said, "but it's not the right one! McCormick!" he snapped at a blond in an orange parka who Rod had to admit had this playboy feel about him, "give our contestant a _real_ answer."

McCormick smiled lazily and said, "The lesbo thing sounds like it would be fine but if I was to wake up like a woman like Sybil Cynis," here he gestured towards the diagram, "there is only one thing I can do. I would have to masturbate. Happily."

"Now _that_ is an answer," Gunn said proudly, nodding at McCormick as if the boy was his own son. "Okay Pretty Boy, sit your ass back down. I'm tired of looking at you."

Rod couldn't take his eyes off McCormick. That guy, he had somehow single-handedly undermined him. Why hadn't he thought of that? Oh, he could recognize the signs with this guy; he didn't just look like a player, he _was_ a player.

As he took his seat, his mind spun, trying to think of what he was suppose to do about this. He had never been in a position that the part he was trying to fill was taken already by somebody else that wasn't even closer to his chiseled looks. He felt Sunny's hand on his arm but he ignored it as McCormick caught his look and smirked smugly at him. Oh, this asshole had _no_ idea who he was messing with.

Then something caught his eye, well, more like some_one_ did. It was a girl but she didn't look impressed with what was going on, her brown hair light and glossy from the lights above and the pale skin that suggested she had lived in cold places all her life. She had this feel that she wasn't impressed by much and as his eyes trailed down to her bust size, he knew.

He wanted her. He wanted to fuck her so hard that she wouldn't be able to walk straight for a week. He wanted to break her and make her cry and then take what he wanted from her and leave her on the side of the road to the mercy of anybody who came across her.

Then as suddenly as those thoughts crossed his mind, they were gone but he knew they weren't far. He struggled to resist licking his lips and come back to a cool-headed frame of mind. He needed to do that or he risked losing everything he had worked hard to make. His image, the way all the girls looked at him, he couldn't lose that now.

So, struggling, he turned back to Sunny and gave her an apologetic smile, hoping to appease her for the moment, before looking back at Gunn who seemed to be in a world of his own as he dictated his expectations like he was some dictator or shit.

Hmm, maybe he should give him a good reason to use that walker…

* * *

Oh the fabulous Dr. Gunn, what a hoot, Charlie thought sarcastically. Had there ever been a person so absorbed with themselves like this guy? Well…Cartman fit that bill easily so she supposed this was a place full of narcissistic sociopaths.

Well, at least she could say that one of those sociopaths wasn't a narcissist.

But what really got to her was Gunn's poster. According to what she had heard, the good doctor had injured his ankle a while ago yet he was still using that walker even though she could tell that he could walk without it easily. He was probably trying to milk it for all it was worth. Anyway, when did he find the time to stalk Bain's mother? If she knew him, and she knew him better than anybody in town, Bain would probably want to have some "words" with Dr. Gunn, words that may or may not involve a large knife.

For Gunn's sake, he better hope Bain didn't have his class or hear about this.

Other than that, she was bored. One thing that a lot of people talked about Gunn was that he was a monotone when he was in "lecture mode." If she was still tired from waking up that morning, then this class was going to be the end of consciousness for her.

Whether the new kid knew it or not, she had noticed him staring at her. To be honest, she wasn't really impressed with what she saw. What was up with all that leather? The jacket was one thing but that hat he was wearing? Where had he gotten that thing? Clothes aside, she was not in the least attracted to the blond's looks as the guy gave off the aura that he was a know-it-all and that "I know I'm all that and a bag of chips."

It wasn't the kind of arrogance that she liked.

And what about the pink-haired girl that was beside him. She could tell that she was involved with the newbie but when that had started, she had no clue. To be honest, she felt a bit sorry for her. If this was her boyfriend and she his girlfriend, there was no way that relationship was going to pan out.

Now she knew what he reminded her of. He was a playboy, just like Kenny McCormick but where Kenny exuded charm with just a lazy smile, the new kid tried to force out the charm and you could tell if you knew how to pay attention. Unfortunately, most of the people here were morons so they wouldn't pick up on it.

She figured that the best way to deal with this was to ignore the ass if only to protect him from a fate almost worse than death. After all, she was spoken for and she did not know what to predict from her "significant" other.

* * *

As first period came to an end and everybody left the classroom, Rod, continuing to walk side-by-side with Sunny, finally was able to ask the one question that wouldn't leave him alone.

"Who was that woman in the picture?" he asked the pink-haired girl. "I've never seen anybody like that ever."

Sunny seemed uncomfortable but Rod was heedless of this. Right now he had a prospect that demanded immediate investigation, especially since there was no way he wanted to let her slip through his fingers. Sure he hadn't met the woman but fuck, it was the principal of the damn thing!

"She's married," Sunny murmured to him, shifting uncomfortably next to him. "She has children and everything."

Damn, who the hell was smart enough to bag her? Please let it not be that dick of a teacher!

"Stay away from her," Sunny warned him unexpectedly. "Her son comes to this school and he's not really nice. I…I don't want to think about what he'll do to you if you…you know…try to flirt with his mom or something."

Like that had ever stopped him before.

"I think I can take him," he said confidently.

"No Rod!" Sunny exclaimed, the first form of resistance he had seen from her ever. He blinked in surprise as she continued to say, "He'll hurt you so bad! They say that he killed our last principal and that he froze everybody in school into ice last semester. He's dangerous."

Unexpected, yes, but that just meant he would keep a hands-off approach for now. "Alright, whatever you say," he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "So what class do we have next?" Yes, go to a neutral topic. It might distract her.

"Um…we don't have the same class," Sunny said sadly. Looking up, she looked both ways as if searching for something before saying, "You should go that way. Take a right and the fourth door on your left is your class. I'll try to catch up with you later, okay?"

The lady has spoken. He nodded and said, "Alright. To tell you the truth, I don't feel comfortable letting you out of my sight. Who knows what perverts are out there just waiting to strike?"

Sunny blushed at him. "That…that won't be a problem." Huh, did she almost sound a bit sad there? Oh well. "Hurry, don't be late," Sunny told him as she scampered off.

He continued to watch her for a minute more before he tried to recall her instructions and follow them.

* * *

Bebe eyed a disgruntled Devin in amusement. Devin wasn't depressed because she just didn't get depressed; she got testy is what. It was a big reason why you didn't turn your back on her.

"What does he see in her anyway?" Devin complained. "I mean that hair! Who wears their hair like that? It's hideous!"

Yeah, she was sulking about the Rod situation as she now put it. Neither of them or their friends had expected to see the new hunk on the block come into school with a girl clinging to him and it was Devin who was taking it the hardest. Though it was a good question. Why was Rod hanging around Sunny Dee of all people? The girl was just so boring and bland, no fun to be with at all.

Devin thus far had suggested a theory that Sunny was using some kind of hypnosis or something to force the new kid into going out with her. It wasn't the weirdest thing Bebe had heard of and anything was possible in this town.

Besides, it was always the quiet ones you know.

"She can't be that bad," Bonnie argued. "I think it's a bit sweet, you know? Sunny's that girl no one likes and then one day a handsome stud comes along and has only eyes for her. It's so romantic," she sighed.

"Get your head out of your ass," Devin sniffed. "You're only saying that because you have Kenny McCormick as a back-up crush and he's always open for business."

"Don't talk about Kenny like that!" Bonnie protested.

"She has a point," Bebe admitted. "He's done half the girls in the school and those are the ones we know about."

"Don't pay any attention to her," a girl with long, weavy black hair with red streaks, Oriental-slanted eyes, olive-colored completion, and a busty chest spoke up to Bonnie. "If you think it's romantic, it's romantic."

Ah, Gwendolyn Long or Wendy or Ash, always a peacemaker until it was her in the hot seat. Sure, once you got to know her, she was loud and outspoken but sometimes it was fun to see someone else try to knock Devin down a peg or two. Most people called her Ash mainly because she didn't like being called Gwendolyn and calling her Wendy would confuse people into thinking she was Wendy Testaburger. Of course, Devin always called her Gwen because she liked getting on her nerves.

When you thought about it, the four of them were like the girl version of Stan's group. She, Bebe, was obviously Stan, Devin was definitely Cartman, and Gwendolyn was Kenny, leaving Bonnie to be their Kyle. Those were just some thoughts of hers and she kept them to herself. Why try to limit yourself with how many friends you had just to copy another group of friends?

"Oh sure, take her side Gwenny," Devin rolled her eyes, ignoring how Gwendolyn bristled a bit at the nickname. "You can't tell me that you aren't interested in Rod."

"He is cute," Gwendolyn shrugged. "But I'm more interested in Stan."

Oh yes, another bone of contention between these two. Both of them, even though Devin wouldn't admit it, had a crush on Stan Marsh. However, Stan was usually with Wendy so while Gwendolyn hung out on the sidelines, waiting for the next breakout, Bebe had seen times when Devin had actively tried to break them up.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Devin mocked. "Why don't you go over and talk with that stooge of hers. What's her name…the Vargas chick!"

"Brianna?" Gwedolyn asked. "Eh, she's nicer to talk with than you."

"Shut up!" Devin gasped in horror.

"She's just teasing you," Bebe cut in, trying to keep up the peace. "Ignore it."

"Whatever you say, Bebe," Gwendolyn rolled her eyes.

Hmm, maybe it was better than she not see them as a girl version of Stan's group. She was already getting a headache from it all.

* * *

Charlie White: **Zephyr Morpheus Lee**

Charity Simmons (girl with black hair in bun): **xoxoAndWhatxoxo**

Christian Bates (androgynous boy): **Luminescents**

Dr. Gunn: **Zephyr Morpheus Lee**

Gwendolyn Ashley Long: **Nyiko**


	4. He's a Player

Author's Note: So many OCs, so hard to pick which to use when and where and how. This chapter marks the last of the OCs carried over from Strangers in those Homicidal eyes and while she wasn't a big character in SITHE, she does have a role this time. Perhaps you can figure out who she is and what I'll have her do. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

He's a Player

Rod was pleased with the amount of girls he saw in this class. Already he could pick out the curly blonde girl, Devin, and Bonnie and see that they hadn't noticed him just yet. There was another girl with them, one with red streaks in her black hair. Heh, she must think they made her different or something.

Strolling forward, he plopped down in the desk right next to Devin's and announced himself. "Ladies, fancy meeting you here."

With the exception of the red-streaked girl with the lovely rack, the girls' eyes shot up to him, widening in surprise. They were probably wondering how someone like him could sneak up on them, obviously forgetting that he had been hiding in plain sight when they had first met.

"Wow, Rod!" the curly blonde girl exclaimed. "Didn't see you come in!"

"What can I say?" he shrugged. He could see that Devin was looking at him with interest, her dark brown eyes practically glowing with lust. Oh, he definitely had her in his back pocket, he could tell.

"Are you a new kid?" the girl with red streaks asked bluntly. He curled his lips upward, not in the least bit stumped by such a question.

"Just got here a couple weeks ago," he answered, "your friends here offered to show me around but I haven't run into them since the mall."

"Ah ha, you didn't give us a number to call you by," the curly blonde spoke up. "How were we suppose to talk to you? Through a crystal ball?"

"You got me," he said, chuckling. "But, I seem to remember that you guys didn't give me a number either."

"That's not what I heard," the curly blonde said. "Wendy told me she gave you her cell. I'm friends with her so if you wanted to talk, you could have asked her for my number."

Hold up, what was going on? Did she mean Wendy as in the Wendy he had met at the mall? The same Wendy with the ex who got on his case? And she, the curly blonde, was friends with her? You have gotta be kidding him! The two were so different and hung out with different people!

"Bebe! You can't be serious!" Devin gasped as she looked at the curly blonde, now known to him as Bebe, in horror.

"Wendy's not as bad as you make her out to be," Bonnie told the horrified Devin. "She's fun." Hmm, she was looking at him differently now, as if being associated with Wendy was a good thing. Devin, though, seemed to have a different idea about that.

"You poor thing!" the highlighted brunette exclaimed. "We have to fix this; we can't have you be dependent on that harpy for everything! She's a nerd, she'd end up boring someone like you. Here, this is _my_ number," she said as she handed him a small piece of paper with that seven digit number on it. "There, now if you're ever in the mood for some fun, you can come to me!"

"Devin, I thought I told you to stop talking about Wendy like that," Bebe reprimanded.

"Why do you stick up for her?" Devin countered. "I'm not the only one who thinks this. You guys seem to be the only ones who think she's not some booksmart slut."

"First of all, it was Cartman who started that rumor of Wendy doing it with the whole football team," Bebe argued.

"Yeah, wasn't that back in the fourth grade?" the red streaked black-hair asked.

"Times change and people change," Devin retorted.

"Tell me about it," Bebe rolled her eyes.

All the while, Rod watched the argument with interest. It sounded like there was some kind of power struggle going on, at least in the mind of one of these girls. He'd have to ask Wendy about Devin and find out what she thought about her. If anything, he could make this work for him.

"Calm down ladies," he said, inserting himself in like he was a peacekeeper. "I didn't think I'd make you all mad like this."

"Oh, don't worry about it," Devin told him, her mood shifting from being annoyed with her friends to trying to be nice with him. That was something he would never figure out, how girls always changed their moods so quickly. "You're new, so you won't know about it."

"Don't listen to what she tells you about Wendy," Bebe interrupted. "A lot of it is bullshit."

Before Devin could respond to that, the bell rang and Rod knew that it was time to sit back and pay attention to the teacher, if only for a few minutes. It was just going to be a spiel on welcoming them back and what they were going to do this year and blah, blah, blah.

However, he wasn't going to let this Devin-Wendy thing go that easily. He was getting mixed signals here but he knew of a surefire way to get around it. Just ask the other participant; they were sure to tell you something different but at least you would have a better understanding of what was going on.

But he would hang on to Devin's number. After all, he would need it in the not-too-distant future.

* * *

Without trying to be obvious, Brittany Love gazed at the wild and lazy looks of Kenny McCormick and failing absolutely to conceal the fact that she was lovestruck. There was something so attractive and downright sexy about the blond boy in the large orange parka that always drew her sight towards him, as if he had some kind of gravitational pull that forced everyone to look at him.

To be blunt, she was crushing on him and while she was usually so talkative and bubbly, whenever Kenny was around, she found her mouth shutting tight and any thoughts disintegrating into ash. She didn't know how he was able to reduce her to this and to be honest, she liked it actually. Every second she wasn't talking was spent watching Kenny and fantasizing what it would be like to be his girlfriend.

She was sure he was one of those gentlemanly types underneath that mask of being a perverse playboy; that when he found someone he liked, hopefully her, he would change into the ideal of what a perfect boyfriend was. In her eyes, he could do no wrong. However, whenever he wasn't around her, reality came in and all those lovely daydreams were ripped apart. She knew that he wasn't the type to settle with just _one_ person but more or less gave himself to everyone who wanted a piece of him. He was so carefree and didn't seem to have a care in the world.

She had lived in Spain when she was younger and had picked up on some of the "techniques" of romance that could be found there and it had only been after her whole family had died that she was sent overseas to America to live with an aunt. Here, what she considered romantic was seen as sappy and stupid and in order to hide the uncharacteristic awkwardness she had found herself in, she had talked and never shut up.

Yet that never stopped her from seeing Kenny wooing her the Spanish way, dropping all his bad habits instantly and becoming the one person she felt she could spend her life. If only he wouldn't disappear as often as he did, then maybe she could build up the courage needed to approach him and at least ask him out once.

Yeah, Kenny had this strange habit of disappearing. For some strange reason, he would always leave, though sometimes she heard someone cry out "You bastards!" whenever that happened. He would come back later and say weird things like he had just died or something. She was beginning to think that maybe he was doing a little too much acid but she was sure that was a habit she could help him get over.

Love conquered all.

On this day, the first day of school, it was currently second period and there she was in Garrison's classroom when she saw Kenny for the first time that day. She couldn't help it; she stopped talking with her friends to just watch him.

"Hey. Brittany. Earth to Brittany!"

She blinked and turned her attention back to Roxi, the other girl clad in her black leather jacket and leaning back into her seat. Roxi was giving her a crooked half-smile, as if taunting her that she knew something that she didn't. She lifted her head up slightly, telling the other girl to say what was on her mind.

Roxi accepted. "Looking at Kenny again? Why don't you get your panties out of a twist and go over there and ask him to fuck you into the mattress already?"

Brittany narrowed her eyes slightly at that. "Eww, no way!" she exclaimed.

Roxi chuckled, shaking her head. "Kenny's not the type to be prim and proper, like you want him to be. Don't think I don't know how you like your men, Love. You'd have a better chance with Stan if that's what you're looking for."

"Quick picking on me!" Brittany whined. "Why do you keep saying that stuff?"

"I will once you leave the cheerleading squad," Roxi quipped. "Oh yeah, isn't Kenny a cheerleader too? Is that why you won't leave?"

"You're just jealous," she huffed. "You want him too, don't you?"

"A little," Roxi agreed, "but I'm not the only one around here who'd like to shack up with him. A bunch of other girls would die to have him pork them. Besides, there's new guy that showed up today and damn, he's smoking hot too!"

Brittany was really a nice person, really. She just didn't know when to stop talking was all. "You're like Bebe and Devin and them," she spat. "Why do you guys like acting like whores?" Ooh, she probably shouldn't have said that but it just came out. It's like once she started, she couldn't stop.

Roxi tensed up at that and whatever friendly look she once had vanished. "Whores, huh?" she grounded out. "Well, whores are Kenny's type. Bebe and her friends are the kind of people he likes, not the stick up their asses, preppy girls like you."

"Girls, can you please stop?" a light tenor but obviously male voice asked. Sitting a couple desks away from them sat the girly boy, as Brittany liked to call him, Christian Bates who was frowning at them both with disapproval. "It's the first day and you're already arguing? Why do you sit so close to each other if you don't like each other?"

"I always sit in this part of the room," Roxi shrugged. "I don't know about Brit here."

"I was here first," Brittany sniffed at her, a bit peeved that the other girl was making her look snobbish. She was a good person, really.

"Why don't you guys just sit on opposite sides of the class?" Christian suggested. "You won't have to deal with each other then, okay?"

"But think of all the catfights we'll miss?" another male voice cut in and Brittany found herself in the company of Brandon Smith. Damn, was it just her or did he get more girly over the summer? And what was with the guys here being androgynous all of a sudden? "Good genes, Brit," he said, as if answering the question she had asked in her head and winking at her.

"You need to get a better inner monologue, girl," Roxi said.

"And you need to shut the hell up!" Garrison interrupted from the front of the classroom, glaring at the four of them. "I'm trying to teach a class here you homos and I don't want to hear about your personal problems."

"Sorry Mr. Garrison," Brittany said automatically, feeling guilty and a bit embarrassed that she had to be called out like this in the middle of class.

"I wasn't talking to you, I was talking about them," Garrison corrected rudely as he gestured towards Stan, Kyle, Cartman, and Kenny who looked completely unfazed, as if they were used to this kind of thing. "And since you too are speaking, I'll have to tell you kindly to shut your faggity mouth up before I pimpslap you back to the third grade."

She swallowed and nodded.

"Anybody else want to say something?" Garrison demanded of the rest of the class. "Good. Now just sit there and let me get over my hangover. I went binging last night and found out at the last minute I had to get up early. Fucking bitch of a principal. She's worse than that wetback Estrada! She's competent!"

There was a jingling of bells sounding from the intercom and Brittany found herself momentarily distracted by it, grateful for its interruption of Garrison who moaned and clutched at his head, an arm digging into his desk, searching for something.

Soon, a sweet yet strict voice spoke. _Attention students of South Park High, this is your new principal, Principal Victoria speaking. Due to unforeseen circumstances, Principal Estrada will not be here for this school year or any others so in the meantime, I'll be your principal._

_For many of you, you will remember me from South Park Elementary but let me say that I still have high expectations of you. If you work hard, I am sure that we can make this the best year ever and send our senior class off into the world on a high note so everybody, study hard and stay out of trouble._

As the intercom buzzed off, Garrison groaned as he pulled out a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels and took a large swallow from it. "Goddamn it, I swear she's following me," he grumbled as he dropped his head onto his desk. Soon enough, everyone could hear snores coming from him.

Without a care, everyone turned back to one another and starting talking to each other all over again.

* * *

Principal Victoria sighed as she turned off her direct link to the school sound system. Well, this was it, no more supervising little children and teachers, it was time for the big leagues. High school students. And high school teachers. She didn't know which group was the more mature one.

Still, it was a big step for her. When the position had opened up after the discovery of her predecessor's corpse, she had jumped at the opportunity. It had taken a while to clear out the man's possessions…as well as disconnect a good amount of security feed that was wired directly to the office from the girls' locker room.

Honestly, she did not want to know any more of what Estrada had been up to. It would be better for her health the less she knew.

But now, back to business. She had a whole school to take charge of and all the other responsibilities of a high school principal. For the first order of business, she had to deal with a disciplinary matter. She thought that the teenagers would be more mature but it seemed like some people would never grow up.

"Send him in," she spoke to her secretary via a personal intercom that she had installed. It was a luxury that she could suddenly afford and she figured a direct connection to the main office outside of the principal's office would be beneficial.

As soon as the door opened, she automatically recognized who it was on the other side. My, if this wasn't a familiar scene.

"It's nice to see you again, Craig Tucker," she sighed. "Let me guess, you're here because you flipped someone the middle finger again, didn't you?"

"No," Craig Tucker answered calmly in the same nasally voice she knew by heart.

"Craig," she sighed, "we both know that you aren't telling me the truth…did you just flip me off?"

As quickly as it had shown up, the teen's middle finger disappeared, followed by Craig answering, "No."

This was going to be a long school year.

* * *

The day was moving at an easy pace, Rod found, but maybe it was going a little bit too fast. It was lunch before he knew it, the reason for that being that Sunny had mentioned that according to his schedule, he had the first lunch of the day while she had the second. She would have to be in class while he ate and he gave her the required sympathy that was demanded of him.

In his head, he preferred it to be this way mainly because he didn't like having to wait for his lunch. He was eagerly anticipating what was going to be served…only to discover that this school cafeteria had bowed down to the stereotype.

He was disappointed, no doubt, but it just meant he was going to have to feast on something else. Luckily, there were a bunch of girls he could look at so he was just left with the choice of figuring out which one to go to first.

That decision turned out to be an easy one; there was that girl from Gunn's class and he could see that she was with a very big guy, a brunet who looked like he towered over her. He couldn't get a good look at the guy but he figured that he would have to move in to learn if there was anything he should be worried about. With Sunny not here to be a pain in the ass, he was free to do as he chose.

So he chose to sit down right next to her at her table.

He could read the confusion in her face as she stared at him, most likely stunned by his looks no doubt, but the guy she was with was giving him this passive look, as if he was wondering who he was yet readying himself to deal with him if he proved to be a problem. Yeah, he was handsome, but Rod could tell he wouldn't be getting anywhere with this guy. He didn't like how those dark eyes were narrowing at him.

Finally, the girl spoke up. "Who the fuck are you?"

He had not been prepared for that question. He was sure that she knew about him by now; he had overheard quite a few people talking about him already. How was it that she didn't know, especially when they had first period together?

Still, he was good at thinking on his feet and he replied, "Name's Rod. I'm new around here and thought I could hang out with you for a bit, get used to the school, you know?"

Instead of thawing a bit in her demeanor as he thought she would, she snorted as if she didn't believe a word he said. "Yeah right, I saw you with that Sunny girl. You're a fucking player if I ever saw one."

Ouch, she was going below the belt there. He was unnerved, though. Perhaps she had been paying attention to him earlier and had…no, she couldn't have. She wasn't interested? Every girl he came into contact with was interested in him! How could such a thing happen?

"I agree," the other guy said with a thick French accent. "Et would be best if you go elsewhere. Your type ez not welcomed here."

"And I'm taken," the girl added.

"Yes, wiz a wheezle," the guy continued.

"And I shudder to think what he would do to you if he caught you within a twenty foot radius of me," the girl added. "If you value your life, you will leave right now."

He blinked, stumped by how in sync these two were with each other. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought they were twins or something.

"Uh, isn't that unhealthy?" he tried. "He sounds possessive. Wouldn't it be better if you dumped him or something?"

"Trust me, me sticking with him is healthier for everybody," the girl said. "Besides, he's more my type and I'd pick him over you any time of the day, week, month, year, or decade. He at least is willing to commit."

What was with all this ball-bashing? He was used to girls saying things like this after he had dumped them but for it to happen before? No, this was not happening.

"What if I had a talk with him?" he suggested, wincing as he heard the desperation in his voice.

"Wiz 'im? Good luck," the guy replied. "I 'ope you like seeing your intestines outside your gut."

"And if you like your intestines, go hang with those floozies over there," she added, gesturing to a part of the cafeteria where he could see Devin chatting with some girls. "I'm sure they will more than love playing your games."

This…this was painful. He could only gape at the two, not moving a single muscle. Eventually, the couple rolled their eyes and picked up their trays, leaving him for another table. This…this had really happened, hadn't it? He had been rejected and at the very first second too.

Slowly his eyes narrowed and glared at the girl's backside, his imagination flooded with visions of scenes. This just meant a change in plans was all; no one said no to him, ever. If there was one way she would say no, it would be because he would be tearing them out of her raw throat as he showed her Big Rod.

In the meantime, he would get over this sting by getting some salve from the other girls who could not look at him without googly eyes.

* * *

"Heh, you see that?" Cartman chuckled as he pointed at the guy Stan now knew as Rod. "Fail. Total fail!"

Stan nodded with a grin on his face. Oh yeah, this guy was going down and he hadn't needed to be the guy to throw down the gauntlet. There was nothing to worry about now. And if Rod continued to go after Charlie of all people, then he wouldn't have to worry about keeping him away from Wendy.

Charlie's husband would take care of him himself.

That didn't mean he wasn't going to let him go with trying to get close to Wendy. No way, he had to show everyone that Wendy was his and he was going to make an example of this guy.

"So, anyway, I was thinking about grabbing him after school," Cartman said, continuing their conversation from where they had left off when he had spotted Rod approaching Charlie. "That way, no one will expect anything and we can hide him in your uncle's bomb shelter until we can get a lot of shit. I personally will donate some shit for this. Then we'll cover him with it and tie him to the school flag pole so when people show up in the morning, the first thing they'll see is the new kid covered in shit!"

"What a way to go," Kenny commented, shaking his head as if already mourning the guy. "What are the chances he'll become the new Fartboy?"

"Oh, that's good," Cartman said. "We can get some of the guys to eat, like, a bunch of enchiladas or Mexican food tonight and have them fart on him when they get to school."

"Where do you come up with this stuff," Stan shook his head, pleased at what the formerly fat sociopath had come up with. "But what else can we do with him? Why stop with just covering him in shit and tying him to the flag pole?"

"Good point," Cartman said as he relaxed back in his seat. "Man, it's so good to talk with you guys about this without having Kyle here to say no."

Stan rolled his eyes at that; no matter what Cartman was doing, he would always bring things around so that he could rip on Kyle. Nothing new had changed here.

* * *

"Guys! You won't believe what I just heard!" Bebe exclaimed. Devin looked up at the curly blond, immediately noticing that Bebe looked either excited or alarmed about something.

"Spill," she ordered.

"I just heard a few of the guys talking about picking on Rod," Bebe said and immediately Devin sat up in her seat.

"What they say?" she demanded.

"I heard Cartman talking about covering him in shit and tying him to the flag pole," Bebe explained. "Now, I for one can't sit back and watch as those guys ruin something so gorgeous. Who's with me on kidnapping Rod to keep him safe? I'd convene a girl council but there's not enough time to get all the girls together so they can give their sparkles. So, all in favor?"

Devin was the first to raise her hand.

* * *

"…and why do you need my help?" Token asked skeptically as he shut his locker door, raising an eyebrow at Stan and Cartman. He knew what the deal was, they wanted to drag him into something that may or may not risk his life and wanted some of his cash at the same time to do it all.

His answer would always be yes because he got bored easily and he liked hanging out with people, not that he would tell anyone that. He had to at least make the assholes in this school work for it.

"Because, Token," Cartman was the one to answer, "we have a serious problem here. You will not believe what we saw the new guy doing during lunch. Even _Craig_ said he'll do it."

They got Craig? Wow, this thing must be big.

"And what does Craig have to do with me?" he asked.

"Look Token," Stan cut in, "that new kid is a player. We saw him flirt with at least five different girls in thirty minutes and the girls _responded_. What if one of those girls is your girlfriend? He could take her out from under your nose and then you'll be a loser."

Alright, they had him convinced. Kenny was player enough for everyone but having two in the same school. Nuh-uh, something needed to be done, he could agree on that. But first…

"Steal my girlfriend? I don't have a girlfriend," he pointed out.

"What Stan means," Cartman picked up, "is that every girl in school is in trouble. If every girl likes this asshole, then there aren't going to be _any_ girls for anybody, unless their homos like Kyle but that goes without saying. The point is, if all the girls want to be this guy's girlfriend, then there's not going to be any for us."

He stared at the two, the three of them silent as he mulled over than logic.

Finally, he said, "I'm in."

* * *

It was drawing nearer to the last period and Rod was finding himself thankful that he didn't have Sunny in this one. Two classes in a row, so many girls in them and he didn't dare step out of line to talk with them so long as he had his eye on the prize that was this pink-haired girl.

He wanted to know if the carpet matched the curtains.

If he bowed down to temptation, then he would never find out the answer unless he spent even more time charming her and really, trying to charm someone was exhausting. He wanted to go in for the kill already, not stick with all this chasing.

So as he entered his last class for the day, he noticed yet another girl. There was nothing special looking about her, really; she was average what with the short brown hair and olive skin tone and plaid shirt. No, what caught his attention was that she was doing something that he rarely saw anyone do in this school.

She was reading.

A book.

A very big book but a book just the same.

He couldn't help it, his lips curled upwards.

He had a bookworm on his hands.

He had a soft spot in his heart for bookworms, seeing as how it was with a bookworm that he popped his cherry. That and that bookworm in question had been very, _very_ kinky. He wouldn't be the person he was today without her. And so here was another, obvious and oblivious, bookworm in which he wanted nothing more than to rub his hands down on that smooth-looking skin.

Adjusting his cap, he strolled over towards the girl and took a seat right next to her, not being subtle at all in looking at her. He made no effort to hide what he was doing and soon enough, it seemed to catch her attention as she looked up at him.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, guarded.

"That's a big book," he said instead. "What's it about?"

She watched him warily, as if expecting some sort of foul play was up. "Why do you care?"

"Just curious," he said almost immediately as he propped his elbow on his desk and laid his chin on his palm. "It's bigger than any dictionary I've ever seen."

She continued to eye him until she placed her bookmark in the pages carefully and shut the book in its entirety. "War and Peace," she stated as she looked straight ahead.

Ah, playing hard to get. He was game.

"Ah, I know about it," he said. "I find it a bit funny that Julie had to take lessons in speaking Russian when she was born and raised in Russia. What I really like about it is how Napoleon was written. The Russians saw him as the Antichrist but the guy who wrote the book makes him out as a military genius."

She blinked at him, surprised that he would know of what the book was about. To be honest, he would have been the same. It was just that the bookworm he had mentioned from before was also reading it when he had met her and she had told him all about it. The fact that he still knew what it was about and some details about it confused even him about it but he figured that having the knowledge couldn't hurt him either.

"Wow, I thought you were one of those brainless jocks," she commented. "Looks like you do have a few braincells."

"Does that really matter?" he shrugged. "I hate having to conform to stereotypes. People have these expectations and when you don't do them, they get pissed. It's too much work."

The girl smiled slightly at him. Looks like he was beginning to worm his way in.

"I'm Rod," he said. "What about you?"

"Brianna," she said quickly. Either she was defensive or she was shy. No matter which it was, the technique to get around both was similar. Persistent attention and refusing to leave them alone without them saying at least one thing. In this case, he figured that the former was all he had to do as she was already answering him.

And maybe there was an advantage to being with Sunny right now. With him being "committed," he was in a safe zone, a friend zone, and she wouldn't catch on to what he was up to as long as she remained oblivious. He wouldn't say unobservant because bookworms were naturally observant. That and no other word than oblivious fit.

Nevertheless, he gave her a smile, holding back so that he didn't slip up and show her his hand. She gave him a wan smile, as if humoring him. Eh, it was good enough. He wasn't expecting to get into her pants so soon. Remember, it took time and finesse to do so and not have them cry "rape!"

As the bell rang for the class to begin, he turned towards the front of the classroom just as the door slammed closed behind an old, white-haired woman with a hunchback. Her beady eyes peered at the class with disdain through small spectacles and the scowl she was wearing on her face made her look like she had sucked on a lemon. Alarms blared in his head, telling him that he once again had a bitch for a teacher who would probably do her best to fail everyone in the class with her high standards and shit.

Fortunately, he had way on how to deal with these kind of people.

"All right you little shits, welcome to British Literature or English 4 for you retards who don't pay attention," the teacher snapped. "I will be your instructor for the year and you may only call me Ms. Simpleton. Not Ms. S or any mangling of it is permitted unless you absolutely want to pile on homework. Now, I don't give a shit who you think you are, you're just an obstacle between me and my pension so the longer you keep your traps shut, the easier this will be for me."

Hmm, probably hadn't gotten laid in a long time. He made a note to himself to make sure he was up to date on his tetanus shots.

"I see a lot of faces I don't know," the teacher continued, "and that's how it's going to stay, kapeesh? I don't want to know about your sob stories about how tough the class is. Did you know I had to walk through ten feet of snow, barefoot, and through a blizzard just to get to school? You ain't seen tough until you've lived through the Depression! Why, I remember a time…"

And on and on she droned. Rod had the feeling that like him, the rest of the class was tuning her out. Sure he'd listen every now and then to make sure that she wasn't talking about anything important (she was now rambling on how better England was with its health care and monarchy) and then zone out to hopefully make the class pass faster.

"And that was how Milton invented cabbage!" he heard her finish. He had no idea what she was talking about or how cabbage was involved but he nodded his head all the same, as if he had actually been listening. Ms. Simpleton, though, frowned at the class as she must have either heard or noticed the snoring.

Waddling over to her desk, she pulled out a yard stick and slapped it harshly against the flat surface, creating a sharp sound that jolted those who had fallen asleep awake.

"Oh, so you think you're too good for English literature, huh?" she growled. "Just for that, instead of having you read chapter 1 for tonight, I'm going to have you read chapters 1 through 5. How do you like that?"

Rod noticed from the corner of his eye that Brianna was raising her hand up. Ms. Simpleton sneered at the girl but called on her anyway. "We don't have the textbook," Brianna deadpanned.

Ms. Simpleton shrugged. "Not my problem. Why, in my day we had to read ten chapters a night for homework and we didn't even _have_ textbooks to read from."

There she was, going off again. Oh how he wanted this class to end. Barely ten minutes had passed and he had already gone through ten girls in his head. He had to at least hand it to the teacher, her voice was like a buzz in the background; it didn't matter if you tried to ignore it, you would still hear it.

Every once in a while, he would steal a peek at the clock, groaning to himself when what had felt like an hour was only ten minutes. He caught others doing the same thing and for once, Simpleton didn't notice it. Maybe it was because she was too wrapped up in torturing their hearing.

"… and that makes me wonder how good Shakespeare would have been in the sack," Simpleton continued to reminisce. "He wrote such good stuff and his love scenes! It's like he read my mind when he wrote Romeo and Juliet! Of course, I wouldn't have had them kill themselves with poison but maybe with something more violent, like fire! Or maybe have them on the Titanic when it sinks!"

Wait, wasn't Shakespeare dead when the Titanic sank? He was beginning to think she was the female version of that Garrison guy.

"But enough about my nighttime fantasies," Simpleton finished. "Turn in your books to the review questions to chapter one and do them all before the bell rings. I'm tired of looking at your faces."

Again, Brianna raised her hand up. "Ms. Simpleton? We still don't have our books…"

"Find them," Simpleton said dismissively.

Wow, that was so helpful…

So, to make a long and boring day short, they found the books stacked behind the teacher's desk, right behind Simpleton herself, and when he finally got his hand on the textbook, he got a good look at that hunchback of hers. Eh, he had had worse. For the rest of the class, he squandered his time pretending to work when he really just scoped out the girls in the class until the final bell rang.

It was sweet Hallelujah for them but Rod waited until everyone else had left before he stood up lazily and headed towards Simpleton who was giving him a sneer. He forced himself not to roll his eyes and schooled his expression to make himself look pleading.

"Uh, Ms. Simpleton?" he asked, not flinching when she scowled at him. "I…uh, I'm having a little trouble with the work…"

"What are you, retarded?" Simpleton snapped, his scowl becoming a full out glare. Geez, could she get anymore frigid? "British literature isn't that hard."

"Perhaps," he said, scratching the back of his head boyishly, "but I rather not find out that it is hard, for me, the hard way. So, could I maybe get some tutoring lessons from you?"

"What?" she practically screeched at him, though she didn't have to raise her voice to sound like nails on a chalkboard. "What are you, selfish? Making a hard job tougher on a little old lady like me?"

"What if I make you some dinner?" he suggested. "Come to my house at about…eight, you help me out with British lit. and I'll give you a free meal. Wouldn't it be easier for a little old lady like you if someone else made you a nice homemade meal?"

Oh, he had her hooked. She looked like she was trying to protest but the promise of free food seemed to be doing half his work for him. It was time to sink this bitch. He placed his larger hand on top of her smaller, boney hand and squeezed it gently.

Now she was looking confused and a little bit apprehensive. "Are you…?" she tried to ask, not being able to finish her question but she didn't need to as he already knew what she was trying to ask.

He leaned down closer to her and said in a whisper, "What would you like it to be?" Give her hand one last gentle squeeze, he stood back and said, "So I'll see you at my house, tonight? Here, let me give you my address so you don't have to go all over town looking for me."

Simpleton continued to stare at him and he took a paper off her desk and scrawled the address down, slipping it under the hand he had been squeezing and then giving her a wink, he left the classroom, a little bounce in his step.

Well that had went well. Hmm, what should he make?

Suddenly, something grabbed him from behind and as he tried to throw his arms about, something else grabbed those too and his face was suddenly covered with a piece of cloth. He recognized the smell of chloroform and as he struggled, he felt more and more things (or were they people?) holding onto him until finally, his struggles weakened and he sank to the floor before unconsciousness finally took him.

* * *

Brittany Love: **Red Rose of Kenny McCormic**

Brandon Smith: **O.o-Fox-fire-o.O**

Brianna Vargas: **FunkyChicken001**


	5. Rogue Warriors

Author's Note: This is perhaps the most in-character chapter of South Park I have ever done. Ever. You have no idea how many episodes of watched to get the feel for this kind of chapter and when I began writing it, it practically wrote itself. That's why you're all getting a quick update. If you think your characters are out of character, then it's for a good reason because this is probably how they would act in South Park canon. Taking a lot of liberties saying that there so hopefully I didn't offend you.

Anyway, got a lot here so I won't keep you all from getting your fix. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or Mel Gibson.

Warning: language, violence, death

Rogue Warriors

The group of boys had their eyes trained on the school, waiting impatiently for the cocky player that had dared to grace himself in the halls of their school. Thus far it had been fifteen minutes since school had officially ended yet there was no sign of their target anywhere.

Stan was growing impatient, his hands balled tightly into fists. He was tired of waiting already; when was this asshole going to come out anyway? He didn't have to look at the other guys to tell that they too were getting tired of standing around. The only person who didn't seem irritated was Cartman.

"How much longer are we gonna wait?" he demanded.

"Patience," Cartman counseled without taking his eyes off the school. "The asshole has to come out of the school sometimes. His Harley's still in the parking lot."

"Fucking fag," Stan said under his breath.

"Uh, why don't we just do something to his bike?" Clyde suggested. "It's boring and I want to go home."

"Goddamn it Clyde," Cartman grunted, pinching the bridge of his nose. "If that was the plan from the beginning, we would have already done it so sit your ass down and shut the fuck up."

"Clyde's got a point," Craig pointed out. "I'd rather be watching TV right now."

"What are you guys doing?"

The boys all looked up towards the school only to find Kyle was blocking their sight of it as he watched them with a raised eyebrow. Without a thought, Stan grabbed his best friend by his shoulders and pulled him out of their line of sight. Once he was sure that Rod hadn't come out, he turned towards Kyle who looking a bit peeved at his rough treatment.

"We're waiting for the new kid to come out," he explained. "We saw him hitting on a bunch of the girls earlier and we want to teach him a lesson."

"What do you have in mind?" Kyle asked suspiciously.

"Cover him in shit and tie him to the flagpole," Cartman answered dismissively without taking his eyes off the school. "It's something a homo like you wouldn't be interested in."

Kyle frowned at his worst enemy and Stan knew an argument wasn't far from occurring. This was just great, something like this had to happen now of all times. He could see that a couple of the guys were settling themselves, getting ready for an entertaining fight.

"Why wouldn't I be interested?" Kyle demanded.

"Because you're a gay Jew who enjoys getting his ass pounded," Cartman replied. "Shouldn't you be with that butt pirate right now and getting plowed?"

"Fuck you fatass," Kyle snarled. "I'm going to help too."

"Whatever, the more the merrier," Cartman shrugged. The rest of the guys were getting disappointed that nothing big was breaking out but Stan couldn't help but feel relieved. If luck held out, maybe they could get back to business.

"How do we even know he's in the building?" Craig finally asked after a lull of silence in which nothing happened. "Couldn't he be behind the school or something?"

"Not likely," Cartman answered. "I've got Tweek following him around."

Craig frowned at that bit of information. "Tweek can't watch a pot of coffee boil without freaking out about how long it's taking. Why the hell would you be stupid enough to have him spy on somebody else?"

As much as Stan didn't want to, he had to agree with Craig on that one. What the hell was Cartman thinking about putting Tweek in such a—

"Ack! You guys!" he heard Tweek shouting as the paranoid blond came running out of the school and straight in their direction. Craig, Clyde, and Token all looked at their friend in worry while Cartman left his spot to greet the blond.

"There you are, what's going on Tweek?" he asked jovially. "Talk to me."

"I—erk!—was right behind him," Tweek began to explain, his jitters causing him to interrupt himself with odd noises here and there, "and I saw—err!—these girls come up and kidnap him! Ahh! They came out of nowhere! And they took him! Erh! Probably to torture him or—ahh!—something!"

"Good work Tweek, do you know where they went?" Cartman applauded.

"I don't know!" Tweek practically shrieked. "I ran away as soon as it happened!"

Stan really, really wanted to smash his head against a wall. They had just been begging for a fuck up when Cartman gave Tweek this kind of responsibility. At least he hadn't mentioned anything about it being too much pres—

"Why'd you run away?" Cartman asked.

"It was too much pressure!" Tweek squealed as he clutched at his disheveled hair.

Stan stood corrected.

"Crap!" Cartman swore. "Who the hell got to him before us? He was ours, Goddamn it!"

"Maybe we'll get him tomorrow?" Kyle suggested.

"Shut your Goddamn, pussy-ass Jew mouth!" Cartman snapped at Kyle.

"Up yours fatass!" Kyle threw back just as vehemently.

"Oh? You want to bring it on?" Cartman taunted as he held his arms out. "We'll do it right here Kyle, you and me! Right here, right nyah."

"Uh guys?" Kenny spoke up. "Aren't those the girls over there?"

Looking away from Kyle and Cartman, Stan looked in the direction Kenny was pointing in. It was there in the parking lot but he could see there was a large group of girls trying to shove something into one of their cars while a few others were starting up the others, more than likely trying to beat a hasty retreat. Damn it and they had almost missed them!

As the caravan of girls' cars began heading out, Cartman took his position in front of the group of boys and declared, "After them!"

* * *

Rod groaned as he regained consciousness, his head throbbing for some reason. Had he gone out and drank too much? It felt like he had a hangover yet not quite at the same time. As he opened his eyes, he found himself in what seemed to be a dim-lit room and for some reason, he was tied to a chair.

Damn it, had he been abducted by Mexicans?

He felt a wet cloth being pressed against his forehead and he gathered the strength to lift his head up only to find Sunny in front of him, watching him worriedly. Oh, so she was holding a wet towel to his face…how kind of her.

"Don't forget to bring a towel," he heard an unexpected voice chirp and he snapped his head around, searching for the source of it. He heard Sunny giggle at him and he looked up at her, trying to find out what was funny and…did that towel have a face? And arms? And legs?

He stared incredulously at the living piece of cloth in Sunny's hands that was just giving him a happy smile, as if waiting for him to say something in reply. Rod found that he couldn't say anything about or to this thing.

"Wanna get high?" the towel asked unexpectedly.

"You mean I'm not already?" he asked without stopping to consider his words before him.

He watched as the talking towel pried itself out of Sunny's hands and wringed out some excess water from it before taking out a joint from somewhere and lighting it up. The eyes faded into a light red color and the towel sighed in contentment.

"Just ignore Towlie," Sunny told him, obviously amused by it. "He does this all the time."

"I have no idea what's going on," the towel, Towlie, said as it stumbled out of sight, obviously high.

For once, Rod found he could say absolutely nothing to that. He was brought out of his stultified state when Sunny shook his shoulder, her eyes expressing worry.

"You're okay, right?" she asked. "The girls didn't hurt you, did they?"

"Where am I?" he blurted out, eyes darting from side to side like he was a wild animal. He shifted in his seat sharply, testing his restraint. What the hell was going on? Why was he tied like a hostage to a chair? He had been abducted by Mexicans, he knew it and Sunny…she had to be a part of it. She had been playing him for an idiot this whole time! She—

"Great, you're awake!" Bebe greeted as she poked her head into the room. "How is he…eh, you?"

"Confused," Sunny said helpfully, more than likely disregarding the fact that Bebe probably had no idea who she was. Okay, for Rod this was really weirding him out. What kind of insane asylum had he stumbled into and—what the hell was Bebe wearing? She looked like she was decked out for war in those ratty, earth-colored clothes and were those markings on her face facepaint? What did she think she was, a linebacker?

He'd lost it, he had utterly lost it. He had lost his mind and was in the middle of a hallucination. That was the only explanation for this.

"Sorry about this Rod but it's for your own good," Bebe said helpfully as she kneeled down in front of him, placing a hand soothingly on his knee. "We heard the guys were up to something and we knew we had to protect you."

"Where am I?" he nearly shrieked as he jolted in his seat. He was out of control, not a good thing.

"Don't worry, you're in a safe place," Bebe tried to console him. "Even if the guys find out you're here, there's no way they can—"

"Bebe!" Wendy interrupted as she burst into the room, dressed in a similar garb to Bebe's. "We got a problem! Heidi and Brianna saw the boys are heading this way!"

"That was quick," Bebe muttered. "Don't worry Rod, we'll protect you."

"Sunny, can you stay with him?" Wendy asked. "Make sure he doesn't panic, okay?"

Sunny nodded, not saying a word as the other two girls left. Rod, meanwhile, was on the verge of hyperventilation. Things were happening too quickly for him and right now, he wanted nothing more than to tear off these ropes and run for the hills. Sunny seemed to understand that he was distressed and she crouched beside him, pecking him on the cheek. The kiss centered him somewhat and he turned to look at Sunny hopefully, as if she was the answer to all his prayers.

He must have looked appealing to her because she leaned back in and kissed, Rod doing his best to try and deepen it as the sounds of battle began to erupt all around them.

* * *

They had abandoned it years ago after the fiasco with sex ed. in elementary school but only in recent times had the girls come together to restore their old fortress. Walls made of sheet metal and abandoned tires surrounded the complex with large mounted guns that shot nails rapid-fire, large white tents similar to those that could be seen at the Denver airport provided shelter and large smoke stacks polluted the air with the wastes they made.

The girls had done more than restore their defensive structure, they added onto it by digging some storerooms beneath it, the exact place where they had hid Rod, and a secret exit in case they had to flee a losing battle. There were four-wheelers and go-carts stashed there so as to make a retreat quicker.

The fatal flaw that had wrecked this girl-made structure was that the tires caught on fire too easily. This time they had put the tires behind their metal walls and strengthened the sheet metal so that battering rams couldn't tear through them and increased their height to give them a higher vantage point from which to attack. It had taken years but ultimately, the girls had their safe haven in case the boys tried to come after them and either subjugate them or give them AIDS, whichever one was currently the trend at the time.

It was from the bunker portion of the fortress that Wendy emerged into the sunlight, Bebe at her heels and both of these girls were filled with determination. It would be like the battle of Helm's Deep in the Lord of the Rings movies and like the good guys, she knew they would win this fight.

Making her appearance at the top of the wall, she demanded a status report from the closest girl. That girl turned out to be Devin, someone Wendy loathed and was sure the feelings were reciprocated yet the two of them were bound by cause. They would set aside their differences this once for a common goal but afterwards, they would resume their never-ending fight.

"See that dust trail?" Devin pointed out in the distance. Indeed, you could see a billowing cloud of dust that curled up into the air. "They'll be here any minute."

"Right," Wendy nodded before seeking a higher position so that all the girls had one direction to look for her in without their views being obstructed. "Alright, listen up girls!" she called out to get their attention. "We're on the eve of battle and it's time to show these boys whose boss! No longer will we allow them to treat every new kid like pieces of shit." Conveniently, she neglected to mention that they too would participate in the same activity. "Some of us may die, be injured so bad that we'll never walk again, but it's a sacrifice we have to make! So what's say we kick some guys' asses!"

There was a cheer from the girls, all of their spirits rising with their leader's heartfelt speech. Yes, they needed to make this world a better place for handsome guys and if they didn't make a stand now, who would?

"Wow, she's a good speechmaker," Bebe commented to Bonnie who stood right beside her.

Jumping down from her perch, Wendy rejoined the girls at the wall, glaring down as their adversaries drew near. The moment of battle was at hand.

It was at that moment that Wendy began to realize that whatever she was expecting, what she found wasn't it. Instead of the toy four-wheelers that the boys had used in their last assault, they had Ford Chevys with grill guard attachments and cardboard cutouts of spikes taped to them. The boys themselves where decked out with bastardized forms of football padding and outfits you would expect someone to wear after the apocalypse and one kid who was holding a light saber and wearing a Storm Trooper helmet. And behind them all, there were dragging a large wooden thing that…holy Christ, was that a medieval catapult?

The boys had obviously come prepared.

In the lead truck, one that she recognized as belonging to Token (don't ask how she knew that), she could see the large ringleader standing in its bed, looking self-important. Cartman, she should have known.

As the trucks came to a stop, Cartman pulled out a megaphone and shouted into it, "Outsider! We know you're in there! Come out and I promise we won't dump as much shit on you!"

Wendy winced at the sound of the horn and put a finger in an ear, trying to clear it out. Then, yelling in reply, "We can hear you just fine Cartman! You don't need that stupid thing!"

"Well, well, well, if it isn't the queen of the hoes!" Cartman bellowed back. "Ow!" he yelped and he glared at one of the trucks for a minute before continuing, "So, Wendy, you dare to stand in our way, huh?"

"Damn right!" she shouted back, joined with the yells of the other girls. "We're not handing Rod over to you!"

"You know, this will go so much easier if you just, you know, hand him over," Cartman said. "We don't have to do this. Just put the nailguns and Molotov cocktails down and walk away. You don't stand a chance because we have Road Warrior on our side."

There were gasps all along the wall and even Wendy had to admit that she felt a bit intimidated. "You didn't?" she gaped at Cartman.

"I did," Cartman said, grinning malicious before turning to his left and saying, "isn't that right Mel Gibson?"

And what do you know, standing beside Token's truck stood Mel Gibson himself, clad only in his underwear and blue facepaint reminiscent of his Braveheart days. Mel Gibson raised a medieval sword over his head and shouted, "They may take our lands but they'll never take our freedom!"

"Wrong script Mr. Gibson," Cartman told the deluded actor.

"Really?" Mel Gibson asked, taking out a bottle of Jack Daniels and downing about half of it. "Ahem," he coughed, completely unfazed by the alcohol he just downed. "We go in! We kill!"

"Better," Cartman said.

"Fuck you fatass!" she shouted.

"Ey! Screw you ho!" Cartman yelled back. "I'm giving you guys a chance to run home like little girls!"

"We _are_ girls, Cartman," Wendy deadpanned.

"Really?" Cartman said. "Oh…eh…okay, that's it! Attack those fucking bitches!"

"YEAH!" the boys roared as their engines flared up, Mel Gibson crying out a Native American war cry.

Wendy swallowed but stood resolute. This would be their final battle…

* * *

The inhabitants of South Park were unaware of the drama that was unfolding less than a mile from their town. In fact, they weren't aware of it until they heard the first boom of an explosion. As soon as they did, they looked around to see who was missing and when they saw a good amount of the teens weren't there, they resumed what they had been doing before.

At the Tucker house where Mr. and Mrs. Tucker sat at the dining table, cutting out coupons, the two grunted as they continued cutting out the coupons that would serve them best.

Then Mr. Tucker said, "Good thing we prepared for this."

Mrs. Tucker agreed with a "hmm mmm." Then she said, "I wonder how much it will cost to fix the pick-up."

"Hopefully Craig won't total the thing," Mr. Tucker replied as he set a coupon aside and raised his middle finger to a bird that was sitting at one of the window ledges.

At the Blacks' estate, neither of Token's parents moved from where they sat in their living room, watching a random coming of age flick.

"What are we going to have for dinner?" Mr. Black asked randomly.

"Maybe we should go out?" Mrs. Black suggested.

In the Stevens home, Mrs. Stevens was by herself at the moment, watch a soap when she heard the first explosion.

"I hope Bebe doesn't get too bloody," she said to herself, "those gender fights are dirty."

Finally, at the Marsh house where Randy was on the couch after leaving the office at the spur of the moment, watching a game show while Sharon was in the kitchen, cleaning up one of the counters. Neither of the two even blinked and Randy only moved enough to burp and change the channel to a more interesting show.

After a while, Sharon joined him, taking one of the arm chairs as she did not want to share the couch with her husband right now.

"I remember when we had our battles," Randy said out of the blue. "What were we fighting about back then?"

"Whether the cheerleaders skirts should be short or barely there," Sharon replied without batting an eye.

"Yeah, you girls wanted the barely there," Randy said. "Us guys wanted there to be a little mystery when we fantasized about you when we wacked off. I think we won that one."

"You did and then you proceeded to rape us," Sharon said.

"I wonder who Stan will rape?" Randy wondered. "As long as it's one with big boobs, I could care less."

"You know, I still have my high school cheerleader outfit," Sharon commented. "I was thinking of seeing if it still fit."

"You go on ahead, I'll be right behind you," Randy said.

* * *

Token's truck swerved as the driver avoided a hail of nails that pierced into the metal of the car. In the bed of the truck, Cartman hung on for dear life, swearing every available second he had.

"Token you black asshole! Slow the fuck down!"

He was ignored.

"Clyde! Would you freakin' shoot already?" he snarled as he took a hard left.

"I'm trying but you're turning too fast!" Clyde complained, ducking back into the truck just as a few nails hit close to him. "Shit!"

"Token! I swear ta Gahd that you slow down this instant!" Cartman shouted from behind them.

Without taking his eyes off what was in front of them, Token grabbed a nearby pail and slammed it onto Clyde's head. "What were you thinking not wearing any protection!"

"It's hard to shoot with this thing on!" Clyde whined, "and I already have a condom on!"

"Clyde, there is so many things wrong with that, I can't think of where to begin," Token growled, frustrated. "Just shut up and start shooting!"

"Token? Are you fucking listening to me? I said—crap!"

Making another hard left, Token now had the passenger side of his truck facing the girls' fortress of solitude. Token could hear Clyde grumble but nevertheless poke his BB gun out of the window and start firing at the girls on the walls.

From her position on the wall, Mari was merciless as she fired nail after nail from the gun turret she was manning. Normally she wouldn't be involved in such stuff but the promise of wanton violence was too much of an allure for her. That and it gave her an excuse to play her "war" playlist that she had made for such an occasion, her headphones planted firmly over her ears.

She ducked down as a few BBs ricocheted off her turret and she swore.

Picking up a strange, oblong-shaped object, she pulled a pin out of the top using her teeth and yelled out, "Pricks!"

As Token turned his truck around again, he sped up as he saw the object heading towards them and Cartman crying out, "Tampon bomb!" Sure enough, the object detonated as it touched the ground, sending used tampons in every direction, one of which hit Cartman directly in his forehead.

"I'm hit!" Cartman cried out melodramatically and he fell over the side of the truck.

Elsewhere on the battlefield, Craig drove his truck calmly, shifting the gears instinctively and looking bored all at the same time. In the bed of his truck was a gun turret of his own, one manned by Kenny McCormick and loaded up with ABC gum. What impact was this stuff suppose to have? Not a lot, really, but if it got into long hair, which most of the girls did have, then they would panic over it and try to get the stuff out, abandoning their posts.

At least, that was Cartman's logic there.

The turret shot rapid-fire as piece of chewed up gum after chewed up gum flew through the air, most ending up splattered on the fortress wall but for a few select pieces, they hit their targets.

"Ah! I'm hit!" Heidi cried out as she fell down and struggled with getting the wadded piece of frustration out of her hair. "Oh god, it's stuck! Get it out! It's so gross!"

"Hold on!" Bonnie cried out as she came to the girls' aid, a helmet with a medic cross painted on it onto of her head and a handy jar of peanut butter at her side. Pulling out a plastic knife, she dipped it into the jar and pulled out a glob of peanut butter, smooshing it into the gum. "Just hold on Heidi!"

"Those bastards!" Bebe swore. "For Heidi!" she cried out.

"They have no shame!" Devin agreed as she took out a rocket launcher type shooter that had the words "Cootie Launcher" scrawled out on it in black paint. "Fire in the hole!"

The projectile was fired and it landed next to Kevin Stoley in his all his Star Wars gear, a perfumed scented cloud covering him.

"Oh no! Cooties!" he cried out as he fell to the ground, convulsing and screaming out garbled sounds.

"We got a man down!" Mel Gibson cried from nearby.

"Direct hit!" Devin crowed.

Meanwhile, Stan was driving a pickup, leant to him from Token, very poorly and it was obvious from the curses coming from Kyle that he indeed sucked at this.

"Drive straight Stan!" Kyle yelled at him with a Molotov cocktail in one hand and a lighter in the other. "I can't throw this thing with you driving like a bitch!"

"Fuck you!" Stan snapped back at him, wincing as some nails thudded into the hood of the truck, just over the engine. "Shit!"

"Fucking Christ," Kyle grumbled to himself as he lit the cocktail on fire and haphazardly threw it in the direction of the fortress. Unlike the last time when one cocktail was able to take out the entire fortress, the stronghold remained standing as the metal walls withstood the flames.

Back at the top of the fortress wall, Wendy ducked as a piece of gum flew overhead. It seemed like this was a stalemate but she knew that this whole thing could have been over with their victory if they had someone with some military experience on their side.

"Damn it, why couldn't we find Charlie?" she swore to herself.

* * *

The South Park National Bank stood stoically, a mammoth of a monument to capitalism that ruled over all the money in this town.

Suddenly, the front doors to the building slammed open and two figures wearing ski masks and holding bags of money over their shoulders came running out, shooting their guns wildly back at the bank.

"Was this really necessary?" one of the robbers, obviously Charlie, demanded of her partner in crime.

"'ust shut up and keep shooting!" her partner shouted back with a French accent, obviously Christophe.

* * *

Cartman slowly picked himself off the dusty ground, blinking dazedly at the chaos around him. Absentmindedly, he peeled the used tampon that was stuck to his forehead off and tossed it aside as he got back up onto his feet.

He saw how none of their trucks were getting close to the fortress, as if none of the pussies driving wanted to ruin the paint jobs or something. They had fucking grill guards for crying out loud! They should have already been tearing through the girls' fortifications! And where the hell was Mel Gibson?

Ah screw it, he'd take control.

"Ey! Stop the fucking car!" he roared at the nearest truck that so happened to be driven by Craig who flipped him off but stopped anyway.

Getting into the passenger seat, he ordered, "Pull back, we need to regroup!"

"Why?" Craig asked dully.

"Just do what I said you black asshole!" he snapped back at the other.

Shrugging, Craig did as he was told if only because he had nothing else better to do, Kenny covering them with his gum bullets.

As soon as they were a distance away, Kenny slid open the truck's rear window and demanded, "What's going on fatass?"

"Change in tactics," Cartman said then directing towards Craig, "pull up to the catapult."

Coming to a stop, Cartman launched himself out of the truck and towards their ridiculously large, wooden contraption, pulling out a large sheet of paper that vaguely resembled blueprints. Nearby another truck stopped and Stan peeked out of the window.

"What's going on? Why'd you pull back?" the hippie jock demanded.

"What we're doing now is getting us nowhere," Cartman snapped at Stan. "We're bringing in the secret weapon."

Strolling up beside him as if being right next to a medieval catapult was no big deal, Kyle peered at the large piece of paper Cartman was holding. "What the hell is that?"

"I got this from that ho Charlie's husband," he said dismissively. "It's a blueprint of the girls' base. According to this, the section right of that door with the "Boy's Keep Out," graffiti is the weakest point."

"Why the hell would he give you that?" Kyle asked, frowning at Cartman.

"Ey, this cost me fifty bucks!" Cartman defended. "Besides, he's a sexist bigot that would do anything to sabotage any undertaking of the girls! Naoh, I'm thinking we need to throw something explosive and have it hit there." He stuck the blueprint harshly as if declaring his point.

"We have a bunch of gasoline and fireworks," Stan mentioned, popping up on the other side of Cartman.

"Yeah, but we don't have anything to bunch them together into one incendiary," Kyle pointed out. "Even if we put them together, they'll scatter after launch and won't be as effective together."

"Hmm, what could we use to hold this bomb together?" Cartman mused out loud.

As one, the three boys turned towards Kenny who was watching them innocently. "What?" he asked, blinking those baby blue eyes of his.

* * *

"I really don't feel comfortable doing this guys," Kenny complained as he sat in the launcher of the catapult, rocket-like fireworks and gas cans of gasoline tied to his person, a couple of Molotov cocktails packed into his pockets. "Maybe we should come up with another plan?"

"Hold still Kenneh," Cartman grunted as he finished wiring the fuses.

"This is so not going to work," Craig deadpanned from where he still sat in his truck, not helping whatsoever.

"I agree with Craig," Kenny said hastily. "I don't want to die!"

"You're not going to die Kenny," Kyle rolled his eyes.

"I have a bunch of fireworks and flammable chemicals tied to me and you're planning to throw me like a fucking missile," Kenny said. "I think this constitutes as being fucking fatal!"

"Grow some balls already, dickweed," Cartman scolded as he grabbed the hood of Kenny's parka and pulled it over his head, pulling on the strings tightly. Taking out a match, he struck it and lit the fuses.

As he took a step back, Mel Gibson stepped up and used his sword to slice the rope that was holding the catapult at ready.

Like an orange missile in the sky, Kenny flew through the air, his muffled scream trailing after him like a jetline as he came closer and closer to the girls' fortress. For a moment, it looked like he was going to hit it exactly where Cartman had aimed…but he came up short and hit the ground one foot away from the wall.

Fire erupted and slammed into the metal wall, the force of the explosion strong enough to tear a hole in the fortifications so at least it wasn't all in vain. Girls were sent flying, all of them shrieking from the unexpected attack.

Picking himself up, Kenny, blackened by the explosion, was miraculously still in one piece and alive. After checking himself, he waved towards the other guys.

"See? I told him he wouldn't die," Kyle said smugly.

Slicing through the air, a boomerang cut through Kenny's neck and decapitated him, his body falling down and his head rolling away, blood spewing out of the headless corpse.

From atop the wall, Bebe caught the boomerang and smirked. "Headshot!"

Staring in horror at the death of one of their friends, Stan cried out "Oh my God! They killed Kenny!"

"You bastards!" Kyle shouted at the girls, waving a fist in the air.

"Their defenses are breached!" Cartman bellowed. "Penetrate their portals of joy!"

"For Scotland!" Mel Gibson shouted in agreement as he took off, running bearfoot towards the gaping hole.

The three boys remained where they were, staring at the deranged actor before Kyle finally said, "I still don't get what you see in him."

Wendy shook her disorientation off, rubbing her ears to get that ringing sound out of them when she spotted the guys' next wave of assault.

"Kaplar!" Mel Gibson war-cried.

"Roxi! Roxi!" she shouted, shaking the shoulder of the brunet with pink highlights. The girl groaned as she lifted her head up, blinking blearily at Wendy. "We got Mike, Echo, Lima, dead ahead!"

Roxi nodded, though you could tell she was dazed. Picking up a nail gun that had been blown off its mount, she unconsciously took the position of a sniper, aiming for the naked man that was running through all the nail-fire.

She fired shot after shot, missing Mel Gibson each time due to her disorientation. Beside her, Wendy was crying out for other girls to take the actor down. Yet it was like there was some kind of barrier that prevented every shot from hitting him.

"Blaaaaarrrr!" Mel Gibson roared as he reached the breach in the wall.

Coming to a stop, the crazed man looked around wildly, as if searching for something but not finding it. "Where are you bastards?" he demanded. "I'm here! I'm ready! I can take any torture you can dish out!"

In response, a Molotov cocktail smashed onto the top of his head, setting him on fire.

"Ooh yeah! That's how you torture somebody!" Mel Gibson crowed as he screamed in agony.

"We got him!" a girl cried out.

The girls' joy vanished soon enough as one of the guys' trucks came barreling in, running over and killing Mel Gibson.

"Well, shit," Wendy said.

* * *

From a distance, Kyra and Gary watched the proceedings from the luxury of two folding chairs and an ice chest filled to the brim with root beer.

"You see there?" Kyra pointed out. "They shouldn't have been paying attention to Mel Gibson like that. Because they did, they didn't see the guys coming up behind him. It was an awesome strategy to send the lunatic in first."

"Um, why do you know about this stuff?" Gary asked as he took a swift chug from his bottle of root beer.

"When you play Halo as much as I have, you learn a few things," Kyra said idly. "Ooh, ooh, you see that! Major pwnage there. I hope those nails didn't hurt Clyde too badly."

"Shouldn't we do something?" Gary asked. "You know? Stop this thing?"

"They'll wear themselves out in time," Kyra said. "We'll be there to patch them up afterwards; it's best to let them get their aggression out of their systems first."

"If you say so," Gary said, taking another swig.

* * *

The noises from above finally made Rod peel his lips away from Sunny and glare at his surroundings.

"Can't they keep it down out there?" he complained.

"I could try and ask them…?" Sunny suggested hesitantly.

When there was a loud boom and everything trembled around them for a second, Rod began to think that maybe now wasn't the best time to try and get some nookie. Maybe now was the time to get the hell out of here.

"Uh, that didn't sound very good," he said, shifting in his seat, trying to loosen his restraints some. "Maybe we shouldn't stick around."

Sunny bit her lip as she look upwards towards the ceiling. Um, why was she looking up and not, he didn't know, behind herself? Was there something she wasn't telling him?

"Sunny, listen to me," he commanded. "Is there some way out of here? A way that no one would see either of us go?"

"Y-yes," she said hesitantly. "There's a garage where the girls can make a quick escape if they needed to. I think that's where they put your motorcycle after they towed it here."

"Great!" he exclaimed. "Untie me and let's get the hell out of here!"

"I think we should wait for one of the girls to come," Sunny said uncertainly.

Another explosion caused the room around them to tremble. "I don't think there will _be_ any girls around if we just sit here," he said hastily. "Let me loose so we can get the fuck out of here before we're fried!"

Sunny seemed indecisive for a second before she nodded, steeling her resolution.

* * *

"Hey, what's that?" Kyra asked as she leaned forward in her seat, squinting her eyes as she shaded them with her hand.

"What's what?" Gary asked, wondering what it was that Kyra had spotted.

From a section of the stronghold that hadn't been demolished yet, the two observed a motorcycle speed out, a large guy driving the bike with a smaller girl clutching at his waist. They continued to watch as the guy raised a hand up into the air, extending his middle finger towards the battle and racing off towards the town.

Kyra and Gary looked at each other, wondering who the hell that had been.

* * *

Dirty and ragged, Wendy entered her house that night, looked completely bedraggled and exhausted.

Looking out from the kitchen, her mother spotted her and smiled hesitantly at her. "So, who won Wendy?" she asked, as if dreading the answer.

Wendy sighed. "No one, Mom. It was a draw."

"Oh thank goodness," her mother breathed in relief. "For a moment, I thought you had lost and been raped."

"I know, I—" Wendy stopped blinking as her mother's words hit her. "What did you say?"

"Oh nothing," her mother said quickly. "Why don't you go upstairs and take a nice, relaxing bath? You look positively dreadful!"

"Okay Mom," she sighed again, not in the mood to try and figure out just what her mother had actually said.

Odds were she didn't want to know.

* * *

On the other hand, unlike Wendy, Kyle never felt more alive in his life. Well, okay, that was a bit of a lie but it was still true that he was pumped over the events of the day. He hadn't had this much fun in quite some time so it was quite a treat for him despite the fact he had to put up with Cartman.

He was feeling very good about himself right now, so good that he felt he could pwn everybody on Halo and maybe take out the mystery player who kept killing everybody and winning the game each and every time.

"Mom! I'm home!" he called out into his darkened house. Blinking at the unexpected emptiness, he sighed as he figured that his parents were probably out doing something. It was rare for something like this to happen but there was bound to be a note waiting for him in the kitchen telling him what was going on.

He may have been in a good mood but not one that allowed him to be cheery enough to make himself his own dinner.

He had barely taken a step when he came to a stop, a chill running up his spine. There was a sensation surrounding him, a very hot sensation. It took his adrenaline pumped mind a second to place where he had felt it before but when he did recall it, his eyes widened and he muttered, "Oh shit…"

Arms wrapped around him and his back was pressed against a firm torso. He was enveloped in an unnatural heat and he swallowed at the feeling of dread he felt balling up inside of him.

"Have fun?" a high pitch voices breathed into his ear, the heat from the breath tickling his earlobe. Impossibly, he felt more arms wrap around him and he knew that there was no escape. "I hope you did because you kept me waiting, _Kyle_."

"I…I'm sorry," he apologized. "I lost track of time and…"

"Why do you sound so anxious?" the voice asked. "Do I sound upset to you?"

"I-I know how you don't like being kept waiting," he said quickly, stumbling over some of his words.

"It's enough that I let you go to that school of yours," the voice said lightly, "but is it asking too much for you to come home right after? Is it a crime for me to want to spend as much time with you as I possibly can?"

"I have friends," he defended. "I need to spend time with them."

"Do you?" the voice questioned. "You really have to spend time with a friend obsessed with finding love in all the wrong places? A friend so bigoted and intolerant that he has a section of Hell reserved just for him? A friend addicted to physical pleasure and would rather chase skirts than spend time with those who care about him? Kyle, I'm all you need. I'm always here and you know I won't leave you alone for my own interests."

"I know," Kyle said softly, lowering his eyes to the carpeted floor.

He shivered as he felt a long tongue snake around his throat, licking up a sticky trail of saliva that felt molten to the touch.

"That's a good boy," the voice said in a soothing whisper. "You must be tired from today. You're lucky I drew you a bath. How about we go upstairs and clean you up?"

Kyle swallowed, knowing that cleaning up involved more than just that. "Maybe I can eat something first Damien?" he suggested.

"Don't you worry about that," the Antichrist told him, "you'll be getting all you need soon enough." Damien's red eyes glowed and soon the two of them were enveloped in darkness, vanishing from all sight.

* * *

It was late, real late when Rod finally got back to his house and by late, he meant that he barely had enough time to get something cooked and ready for Simpleton when she came by. Damn it, it was almost eight and he was nowhere near ready! He had nothing out, the oven not even preheated. He couldn't make sandwiches because that would be lame and wouldn't give him the kind of atmosphere he was trying to set.

Still, he was able to cook up some pasta and was warming up a jar of tomato sauce when the doorbell rang. Damn, he was cutting it close but at least he could make it look like he was almost finished.

So maybe this wasn't all for naught.

Quickly, he hid the empty jar and left a few props out that made it look like he had made everything by hand. Image people. As long as you didn't blow it yet at the same time didn't say a word to confirm you are lying, then people will come to their own conclusions and be more likely to believe you.

Wiping his hands, he hurried to the door, trying to make it before the bell was rung again. You can't make them wait too long or you might leave a bad impression.

He smiled appreciatively as he opened the door to Simpleton who seemed to do a double take of him. He resisted the urge to smirk, knowing exactly why it was she was looking at him differently. He had taken his leather jacket off and left his hat behind, leaving him only in the pants that had no other purpose than to show off his muscular curves and the black tank top that showed off just how fit he really was.

He could have closed his eyes and he still would have known what she was looking at. The well-proportioned arms, the solid chest that looked soft to the touch, the tanned skin that emphasized each and every muscle on his torso, yeah, he didn't have to be an idiot to know that he had her undivided attention.

"Right on time," he said, looking benevolent. "Would you like to come in?"

Simpleton nodded her head dumbly before she shook it and regained her composure. "What do you think? Making me wait for you while you're whacking off? Making an old lady wait is in terrible taste."

"Of course it is," he agreed, "but I didn't want the sauce to get burned. Come in, would you like something to drink?"

"Brandy if you have it," she ordered. "It's the only thing that keeps me up late at night and I have a feeling you're going to need _a lot_ of help."

"You think so?" he asked, scratching the back of his head boyishly.

"Dumb jocks like you need all the help you can get," she sniffed, holding her nose up in the air snobbishly.

Now, Rod would have been a bit leery about Simpleton and her intentions but he kept catching her making quick peeks at him and he knew that she liked what she saw. She was just trying to put up a face. Well, he was good at breaking down those kinds of defenses.

It was some time later as he pushed aside a messy plate and gazed at an obviously drunk Simpleton who was responding to him better than he had hoped. The alcohol had definitely gone a long way in loosening her up but now it was time to go in for the kill.

He had done without for far too long…

He got up from his seat and stalked closer to the teach, doing his best to hide his intentions as he came to a stop right next to her and leaned against the table casually.

"You're looking a bit tipsy there," he told her. "Maybe you should spend the night here until you sober up a bit."

"Nonsense!" Simpleton hiccupped. "I'm…I'm as good as…hic…as…what am I good as? Hic."

"I insist," he told her gently as he placed a hand against a cheek, the skin rough as sandpaper due to age and withstanding the elements. He stroked his thumb against the skin nonetheless, please when she leaned her head closer to his touch.

He crouched closer to her, taking in the blush on her cheeks that was more from the alcohol than it was from anything else. He leaned in closer and said, "I can't help but think about how lonely you've been. How long has it been since you've been close to anyone? It's such a shame for a little thing like yourself to be all alone."

"Are…hic…are you trying to seduce me?" Simpleton demanded, surprisingly catching on to what he was doing.

"Why?" he asked in response. "Have something against it?"

"Hell no!" she giggled.

Perfect.

He leaned in and claimed those dried lips, slipping his tongue into that mouth that was moist with alcohol but would have been dry had there not been any. She was responding though as she leaned in closer to his touch and he knew he had her.

Maneuvering his arms around her, he picked her up easily from her seat, not once losing contact with her face. Pulling away slightly, he gave her a sultry look that caused her to shudder and without a complaint, he headed towards the stairs and his room beyond.

Tonight was going to be fun…


	6. Behind Closed Doors

Author's Note: I have a problem guys and I'm need your advice. In SITHE, I had a plotline involving Christophe/the Mole and an OC called Rhiannon Edwards and I left the subplot hanging, unresolved with the intention of resolving it this story. The problem has come up that Rhiannon's creator has no responded to my PMs asking for permission to use Rhiannon nor has she resubmitted her. I am at a loss of what to do; I want to continue with the subplot and bring it to a satisfactory conclusion but I have an aversion to using a character I don't have permission to use. So please, tell me your thoughts about this issue of mine: should I say "fuck it" and use Rhiannon without permission or relegate the subplot to the background where you only get periodic updates about it in the story but none of the sweet drama and tension you all crave. Hell, if one of you guys can get into contact with xXBeyondBirthdayXx and get her to respond to me, I'd appreciate it. So, either put your answer to this problem in a review or send me a PM.

Now, as of last chapter, Fiends has exceeded SITHE by two reviews. Not bad but let's see if we can't get this thing to beat DOTD with its 117 reviews. Last chapter also seems to have the distinction of being called my best chapter to date. I have no choice but to agree on that mainly because I believe the same thing. Hopefully I can write similar chapters in the future. I have no idea how long Fiends is going to be but your comments go a long way in encouraging me to finish it. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, death, adult situations

Behind Closed Doors

As he helped Sunny off his bike that morning, Rod felt at ease. He had woken up chipper and had even given Sunny a deep kiss when he picked her up at her house. Really, he was feeling on top of the world and that was something that he could never get enough of.

He was so energized and the day looked so bright; nothing could go wrong today, nothing at all.

At least, that was until he opened his locker for the first time. He had to shove himself to a side as literal shit was barfed out, splattering on the floor and getting onto his boots. He looked at it in disgust, wondering whose bright idea it was to do this.

He got his answer soon enough where he heard a loud, annoying laugh aimed at him and when he turned his glare at the person who was laughing, he found a husky guy in a red coat that looked a bit too big for him. It was like the guy had been fat and then suddenly lost a lot of weight in a short amount of time.

"How'd ya like that, new kid!" the guy howled with laughter. "You want more? I've got plenty to give! Ha!"

He narrowed his eyes at the guy, his jaw clenching tightly. So this guy wanted to start something, huh? As he began to move towards the guy, Sunny unexpectedly grabbed him by his arm and pulled him back, her eyes frightened.

"Don't," she said quietly to him. "You don't want to get involved with Eric Cartman. Just leave it alone."

"Whoa, looks like you're already whipped!" Cartman continued to laugh. "Come on over here like a man or are you a pussy?"

This guy was pressing his buttons now. His hands balled into fists and his body tensed, bracing itself for a fight.

Behind Cartman, a familiar face strolled up and Rod briefly recognized the face as belonging to that ex of Wendy's, Stan was it? He stood there behind Cartman smugly in that green letterman jacket of his.

"Not bad Cartman but you could have done better," Stan said.

"Please, hippie, I'm just warming up," Cartman scoffed.

So Stan was putting Cartman up to this, wasn't he? Rod was not one for pranks and he did not get even by going behind people's backs. He was more of an "in-your-face" type of guy when it came to solving his problems. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to give both of these assholes a specially prepared knuckle sandwich ala Rod.

"Eric Cartman! Not the second day of school and already you're pulling your usual stunts!" a strict voice came in. Huh, it sounded familiar, like he had heard it before but he couldn't pin just where.

Cartman, though, also recognized this voice as he suddenly had this look of annoyance on his face as he turned towards the speaker. "Well good morning Principal Victoria," he tried to say sweetly though he was completely obvious. "Would you look at that? Someone put feces in that poor kid's locker. Such a shame…"

"Don't start with me Eric," Principal Victoria (wait, she did those announcements yesterday! That's where he heard her voice!) said, not buying the act. "I've seen the security footage of you breaking into the school last night and I can see bits of crap on the ends of your sleeves."

Sure enough, at the ends of Cartman's coat sleeves, you could make out brown stains that were similar to the stains on the back of Rod's locker door.

Cartman looked at the stains for a moment before turning back to Principal Victoria and said, "I fail to see where you're going with this Principal Victoria."

The blonde lady rolled her eyes. "I was on my way to make sure this poor boy hadn't shown up to this yet but do you know what? I'm thinking that we should have a locker trade. Eric, here's your new locker. Be sure to clean both it and the floor. Young man," she directed to Rod, "please come with me so I can get you the combination for your new locker."

"What? You can't do this!" Cartman protested.

"Well, Eric, I just did," Principal Victoria stated. "Either you take the locker and clean up this mess or you go to detention and still clean up this mess. Which would you prefer?"

"I'll take the locker," Cartman grumbled though he glared balefully at Rod. Rod, though, was now the one smirking smugly.

As he followed after the principal, Sunny at his heels, he took the time to lean in close to Cartman and say quietly, "Looks like that backfired, huh fat boy?"

"Ey! You shut your Goddamn mouth!" Cartman yelled at him.

"Eric Cartman!" Principal Victoria admonished. "I will not have you using that kind of language in my school. Now you have a new locker, a mess to clean, and detention."

"Aw, aww!" Cartman whined.

Well, Rod thought to himself, this day was starting to look up.

* * *

"I still can't believe I let you convince me to rob a bank with you," Charlie muttered to Christophe as they entered school. "What the hell do I need with more money when my mom's loaded?"

"You could give me back your share," Christophe suggested.

"Fuck no," she retorted. "If I'm going to be nailed for this, I'm at least getting paid for it."

"Zat wheezle is rubbing off on you," Christophe commented.

"Like hell he is," Charlie replied. "If he's rubbed off on me, it's not in that way."

"Really? I remember a time w'en you would 'elp me for free," Christophe mused.

"That was when Jack was playing "The Most Dangerous Game" with me," she deadpanned, "and money means nothing to a dead person. I'm living and breathing and Jack's dead and gone so Im'ma gonna get paid for shit now, thank you very much!"

"Oh? Ze wheezle isn't after your 'ead anymore?" Christophe asked.

"Only when he's pissed off at me," she shrugged as she reached her locker, the hole still there. Opening it up, she was slightly disappointed that there was nothing in there but her textbooks and she sighed. She wasn't going to admit she was looking forward to Bain's symbol of courtship, not yet anyway.

"So 'ose ze man in ze relationship?" Christophe asked. "Is et you or is et him?"

"Fuck off, asshole," she muttered as she slammed her locker closed. "I could ask the same thing about you. Do you pitch or do you catch?"

"I am offended you asked me zat," Christophe huffed. "I pitch, silly."

"Like hell you just called me silly," she growled.

"And if I did?" he replied challengingly.

The two fell silent suddenly as a certain splatter of color passed them by, Christophe gazing after the epileptic sight yearningly. Charlie automatically knew that what just passed was a sore subject and so she didn't say anything about it. Christophe would work out his problems with Rhiannon sometime, just so long as she wasn't pulled into it against her will.

She had her hands full keeping Rhiannon alive, if you know what she means.

"'E 'asn't gone after 'er, 'as 'e?" Christophe asked.

"No, he hasn't," she sighed back. "I've been…keeping him busy." Looking away, she brushed a finger under her nose and said, "You can go after her if you want. You know, make sure he hasn't set up any of his 'surprises' already."

She didn't need to look back to know that Christophe had accepted her offer but now she felt a bit lonely. Funny, she hadn't seen Bain in a while, not even yesterday. She would have thought he would have shown himself already. He probably was planning something.

Maybe she should stop by his place later, make sure that she got her fill of him…er, make sure he wasn't up to something. The last time she had left him alone, he had rigged the fire sprinkler system and froze everyone in the school.

Yeah, he definitely had some nasty surprises up his sleeve.

Figuring she might as well walk around and kill some time before first period started, she left her locker and turned the corner, having to stop as she saw Cartman on his hands and knees with a sponge. The intense smell of shit reached her nose and she covered it, wondering what the hell was going on. The scowl on Cartman's face, though, convinced her that she should ask later.

She had a feeling that in his present mood, Cartman wouldn't give two thoughts to grounding her mother up and putting her into chili.

So, as unobtrusively as she could, she backed into the hallway she had been in and headed the other way.

"Smart move Lottery Ticket," Kenny commented as she spotted him leaning against a set of lockers, a look of boredom on his face that was unobstructed from his hood.

"What's going on?" she asked, genuinely curious.

"Eh, the fatass got caught putting shit into the new kid's locker and now he has to switch lockers with him and clean the mess up," Kenny shrugged. "I think he's been excused from first period to do it."

"Things are really turning around here," she said. "Use to be you could get away with crap like that."

"Well, it is Principal Victoria," Kenny said. "She has experience with us and won't put up with our shit. I guess that was a plus for the last guy."

"Principal Estrada?" Charlie wrinkled her nose at that, not wanting to remember the illegal immigrant. "There are no pluses for that asshole. I'm glad he's gone."

"Hey, hey, no need to get bent out of shape," Kenny cautioned, holding his hands up in mock-surrender. "Maybe you need to get laid or something. I'd be happy to help out with—"

"Do you have a deathwish?" she interrupted. "One of these days he will kill you, you know that."

"He already has," he muttered under his breath.

"He what?" Charlie asked. "Can you say that again?"

"Nothing," Kenny said quickly. "So, I guess I'm not getting 'lucky' huh? Dang you really are like a lottery ticket. You never pay out."

"You know what? I take that back," Charlie said. "You won't have to wait for Bain to get his hands on you. I'll do it right here and now."

"Um…you don't happen to have a lit cigarette on you, do you?" Kenny asked nervously.

"Not yet," she said ominously.

"And we have first period together, crap," Kenny muttered to himself.

Charlie grabbed his hood and pulled him closer to her. "Let's go somewhere more private. You know, a place where no one will hear your screams…"

"That doesn't sound right."

Charlie looked away from Kenny who looked like he was about to cry tears of joy for the interruption. The source of said interruption, though, came from the new kid of all people. He was giving them this look of amusement as if he was finding them funny while Sunny Grain was at his side with a spaced out look on her face. Wonder what she was thinking of?

"Who are you again?" Charlie asked pointedly.

"Uh, I think you should know who Sunny is by now, shouldn't you?" the new kid asked.

"I wasn't talking about her, I was talking about you," Charlie corrected.

Okay, that look on his face was pretty hilarious. Beside her, Kenny was laughing at it without a care in the world. That seemed to break Sunny out of whatever daydream she was having because she was looking around, trying to figure out what was so funny.

"Burn, dude, burn," Kenny laughed.

Charlie gave Kenny a look but as she turned back to the new kid, she had to pause at the look he was giving Kenny. His eyes were narrowed and for a moment, she saw anger in them. Then, as if noticing he had an audience, that anger disappeared and he smiled sheepishly at her.

"Guess I haven't made an impression, huh?" he said.

"Depends on your definition of impression," she retorted. "There are people you remember, people you have no choice but to remember, and people you forget once they leave your sight. Guess which group you're in."

"Cold, Charlie, cold," Kenny whistled. "Kinda knew you had it in you."

"Actually, that's something that rubbed off of Bain," she said. "He brings out the worst in me."

"Is he your boyfriend?" the new guy asked.

"More like he's her ball and chain," Kenny smirked. "Too bad for you, huh? Charlie's off limits unless you want that psycho on your case. He fucking killed our last principal, everybody knows it but nobody can prove it."

"We should go Rod," Sunny said quietly to the larger blond.

"No, they have the same class as we do," Rod asserted, not taking his eyes off Charlie. "Since we're heading the same way, why don't we just stick together? Maybe I'll meet this ball and chain I've been hearing about."

"Who's the one with the deathwish now?" Kenny muttered under his breath.

Oh, that reminded her, she still needed to kick Kenny's ass for that lottery ticket comment he made. Hmm, wait, she had a better idea.

Taking out her phone, she sent a text, ignoring the curious looks she was getting from Kenny and Rod. There, she thought to herself as her cell told her that the text had been received.

"Don't think I've forgotten about what you said to me, Ken," she said aloud, Kenny paling as he too recalled what he had said before Rod's interruption. "Just know I have something cooking up for you."

"Oh Christ, you didn't?" Kenny asked in a near whisper. "He's going to fucking kill me!"

"He might," Charlie shrugged. "You wouldn't be the first."

"Call him off Charlie," Kenny pleaded with her. "I don't want to fucking die! It fucking hurts man!"

"How the hell would you know that?" she asked, frowning at him.

"Charlie, I swear to God that I'll be your fucking slave, just fucking call him off!" Kenny begged.

"What's he talking about?" Rod wondered.

Sunny didn't answer him, probably not knowing what Kenny was talking about.

"You might not want to stick around me," she advised him. "He'll find you quicker that way."

"You are such a fucking bitch, I swear Charlie," Kenny muttered as he left quickly, moving as if his life depended on it.

"I love you too!" she said back, loudly while waving a hand in the air. She noticed there was a flitting of light and the sounds of a booted heel screeching against the tiled floor but nothing ever came out in the open to confirm that someone was watching them.

He could be so predictable…

"Wow, he really looked scared," Rod said.

Oh yeah, the new kid. How could she have forgotten about him? Note the sarcasm in that last sentence.

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes. He wasn't her problem so why should she bother with this guy? Hey, hadn't he tried to hit on her yesterday? She was beginning to remember him a bit but other than that, she couldn't have given two shits about him.

She did feel a bit sorry for that Sunny girl. She probably had no idea what she was involved with.

* * *

While he was more of the type to not give a shit about rules (and since when have rules ever helped him?), Christophe knew that he had to suffer the indignity of being told what to do by a lousy bell. This was a reason why he didn't like going to school, because he had to do what he was told to like he was a mindless robot and not the kickass, shovel-toting, lethal mercenary that he was.

Who did these teachers think they were? None of them had witnessed a quarter of the things he had seen and not even a tenth of what he had done. He had seen the worst of what humanity was capable of, faced off with evil itself and come back to tell the tale, flipping it off as he did it.

He did, though, have to give thanks to Charlie for putting him in this position in the first place but not for the reasons you would think. Once upon a time, he had a name for himself, highly recommended to do some of the most dangerous tasks and the trickiest espionage you could ever think of. Then he had brought Charlie along on one of his missions with the dual purpose of using her unique skills and confronting her about the whereabouts of her murderous older brother, Jack. The result had been that Charlie, ticked off, set off an alarm and with that, single-handedly wrecked his flawless reputation.

Now people thought twice before hiring him for his services and needless to say, his job offers were quite scarce these days.

Fucking economy.

So, unemployed and with nothing to do, other than rob banks for some extra cash, he resigned himself to the fate laid out before him and chose to go to school. There were times when he wanted nothing more than to throttle that girl for reducing him to this but he had to resist temptation. She was his best friend from long ago and of the present. By the unwritten rules of being best friends, as written by those pussies Stan Marsh and Kyle Broflovski, best friends couldn't kill each other, no matter how much you despised the other.

Another time, Mole. You'd get your chance.

Yeah, what chance? It looked like he would have a better chance of getting Rhiannon to look at him again. Damn it, why'd he have all these confusing emotions, huh? He used to be _happy_, content even. Why did he have to know CPR and be at Stark's on that day? Everything had gotten worse!

Idly taking in the classroom he was in, he internally scoffed at all the fucking sheep around him. Didn't these pussies have any ambitions of their own or cravings for adventure?

He felt a hand clap down on his shoulder but he made no move to acknowledge it, preferring to sulk. The owner of the hand, though, didn't seem to get the hint.

"Why so down man? You look like your pet turtle died or something," a cheerful voice said.

A pet turtle? What? He came out of his sulk long enough to eye the person who had gotten it into their head that he was the type that liked to chat. He found himself staring at Sawyer Thompson, a scarecrow of a boy with shaggy auburn hair and blue eyes that were clear and guileless, a fair dusting of freckles on his cheeks and nose. He wasn't pale like a Ginger kid, leading him to belief he was one of those called a daywalker. Sawyer's jeans were torn, most likely from doing something stupid, and in contrast, his jean jacket looked to be in mint condition, worn over a shirt with the name of some obscure band (Course of Nature? Who the hell were they?).

Reaching up, he took Sawyer's hand and rudely took it off his person.

"Whoa, got a little sand in the vagina there?" Sawyer asked teasingly, holding his hands up at the glare he shot at him. "Kidding! I'm just kidding man! You gotta loosen up a little, ya know?"

"I would appreciate et if you would not touch my person," he replied snippily. "I am in no mood for ze 'erking a'ound."

"I'm not jerking you around man," Sawyer said hurriedly. "You looked kinda put off. I was just trying to lighten the mood a bit."

"Zanks but no zanks," he said bluntly.

"I see, woke up on the wrong side of the bed, huh?" Sawyer said, nodding his head knowingly. "It happens to the best of us."

"You 'onestly zink you are in ze same league as I?" he retorted, arrogantly he would admit. "Don't make me laugh."

Sawyer frowned at him. "Okay buddy, you're going a bit far there. Excuse me for trying to cheer you up, asshole."

He pinched the bridge of his nose. As much of a high opinion he had of himself, he knew better than to shove it in someone else's face. It was rude and made him look like a douchy American.

"Zat was not polite of me," he sighed. "I am sorree for saying zat but right now, I am not in a good mood. I saw my ex recently."

"Oh, I see," Sawyer said, calming down a bit. "Still, you shouldn't be going around saying that crap to people," he added, frowning.

"An' you saying I have sand in ze vagina is all right?" he asked.

"I told you, I was joking around," Sawyer protested. "Ya gotta cut me some slack man."

"As long as you return ze favor," he said, holding a hand up which Sawyer shook.

"We all make mistakes, right?" Sawyer agreed. "So what the hell do I call you? Other than asshole, of course."

"Christophe will do for now," he answered. "No need to introduce yourself; I already know who you are, Sawyer."

"How'd you know that?" Sawyer asked, blinking with wide eyes.

"I leesten and pay attention to my sur'oundings," he answered with a wry grin.

"What are you, a brainiac?" Sawyer asked, grinning teasingly.

With an answering grin, he replied, "Something like that."

* * *

"Why'd ya ditch us Ken?" Cartman asked accusingly at a very nervous Kenny who seemed to be constantly looking over his shoulder as if he was being stalked. "We were in the middle of a battle that would determine the fate of the world and you go running off like a little bitch! What the fuck?"

"He's right," Stan agreed reluctantly. "After we threw you, you ran away. What was up with that?"

Catching on to this last bit, Kenny left off from his paranoid surveillance to give the two a look. "Guys, I kinda _died_. You know, got decapitated and all."

"You did?" Stan asked. "I don't remember that happening."

"You never remember," Kenny muttered under his breath.

"Alright, Kenneh? You need to lay off the acid," Cartman ordered. "There's no way for a person to die then come back to life unless they're Jesus or were killed by Jews."

"Whatever fatass," Kenny rolled his eyes, grumbling under his breath.

"Ey! You can't call me fat anymore!" Cartman snapped at the blond. "I lost a lot of weight over the summer, thank you very much!"

"You still have a double chin," Stan pointed out.

"Oh yeah? Well…well your brains are in your biceps, hippie jock!" Cartman argued back.

"Oh, right, that really hurts," Stan said dully.

Sighing to himself, Kenny looked away from the bickering duo, instead choosing to find out where Charlie was and possibly have her call her attack dog off. Already he had had three attempts on his life and he wasn't looking forward to another one.

He found her soon enough and what do you know, that new kid was there with her. Oh great, he was trying to hit on her again. Wait, the new kid was trying to hit on her again? Well whoopee, if that psychotic bastard was watching, then he was good as off the hook! Thank you Rod! Thank you for sacrificing yourself!

"Ey! Why you smilin'?" Cartman demanded before he looked in the direction of Charlie. "Oh would you look at that! The new kid's tempting fate."

"What a freakin' dumbass," Stan agreed.

They continued to watch as the new kid "put the moves" on Charlie and when she had had enough, instead of walking away in a huff, they watched her grab him by the lapels of his leather jacket and pull him close. It was obvious she was making some kind of threat, which she punctuated with a harsh shake of the new kid before releasing him and walking off looking pissed.

Pfft, what a loser!

"So what are we going to do next about this asshole?" Stan asked. Looked like he wasn't through yet picking on this guy. Well, Kenny wasn't about to stop his friend from having fun, so long as it didn't kill him.

"I already did my community service," Cartman said. "I've got a locker that smells like shit now so unless you pay me one million dollars, I ain't doing shit."

"You're backing out already?" Stan asked incredulously. "But…but you never know when to quit!"

"First of all, Stan, that bitch Principal Victoria is in charge," Cartman listed. "I could care less what she does but she's not an elementary school principal anymore, she's high school. That means she has more leeway to do what she wants with us and there's no way I'm going to put myself at that cunt's mercy."

"Uh, Cartman?" Stan said, eyes widening.

"What? Oh wait, let me guess, she's right behind me isn't she?" Cartman spat out sourly.

"No, I'm right in front of you," Principal Victoria said, looking down at the teen with a frown, her arms crossed.

Cartman opened his mouth but said nothing, shutting it closed before opening it again then closing it. Finally after a minute's worth of silence, he said, "Crap!"

"I'd like to see you in my office after lunch, Eric," Victoria said. "You and I are going to have to have a long talk."

"Alright Principal Victoria," Cartman sighed, defeated.

Principal Victoria nodded at him sternly before walking off, continuing her patrol of the cafeteria.

Cartman slouched in his seat, pouting. "You see? I swear, she has it out to get me."

"Well what are we suppose to do now?" Stan demanded.

"You know, I think you're doing this because you're jealous," Kenny pointed out. "Wendy likes him and he makes you look like a dick in front of Wendy. Why not do something else, like…I don't know, make Wendy jealous?"

"What the hell would you know," Stan started to retort before stopping himself mid-sentence. "Hey, maybe you're right. I should make Wendy jealous and that way she'll come back to me and not the other way around!"

"Oh boy, here we go!" Cartman muttered under his breath.

"It's perfect!" Stan exclaimed. "Now, who should I pick for a fake girlfriend? It's gotta be someone hot, someone Wendy would notice. But who?"

As Stan began to think about this, Kenny slid his chair out from the table and stood up. "Yeah, you do that. I'm gonna find some ass. See you later."

Stan though was too engrossed in his thoughts and Cartman wasn't paying attention, preferring to gobble up his lunch like he was a starving man who just got out of a desert. Kenny rolled his eyes and headed out the doors of the cafeteria.

However, not a second after he vanished from sight, his headless body fell right back in, blood spewing from his throat.

Because of the racket the body made as it fell back in, everyone noticed it, stopping what they were doing in the process.

"Oh my God!" Stan cried. "They killed Kenny!"

Coming out of the restrooms across the hall from the cafeteria, a hall pass in hand, Kyle spotted the body and the head that was coming to a stop right in front of his feet. "You bastards!" the Jew yelled out.

No one noticed the abandoned fire ax that laid a few feet away, its blade covered in blood.

* * *

Sometime after the incident in the cafeteria, Stan was heading towards his next class, pondering the most important of questions that had ever been conceived of.

Who should he hit up for a date? It had to be someone who had some looks, who stood out and would attract attention. In particular, it had to be Wendy's attention. But who? There were a bunch of girls in this school and while he thought a lot of them were lame, he knew he would have to get around that train of thinking if this plan was to work.

Okay, okay, you know what, he'll just choose the first girl he saw when he turned this corner. Yeah, any girl would do at this point…as long as she was hot…and had nice breasts…and wasn't clingy…and didn't smell bad…and let him screw her…and did he mention she should have nice breasts?

Steeling his nerve, he squared his shoulders and turned the corner, his fingers crossed that there was a hottie heading his way.

What he found were two girls. Aw man, now he had to choose between them. Well let's see, who were these chicks?

One had long black hair with a red streak in it, a couple of beauty marks on her face, slanted eyes, dark skin that didn't look like she got it from a tanning bed, and…whoa, look at those things! She had to be a C-cup minimum, maybe even a D-cup! Why hadn't he heard Kenny talking about this girl or at least bang her?

Now this other girl…what's her face, also had long hair except it was brown, skin that was fair, and had some noticeable eyeshadow that he supposed complimented her eyes but he would have to get closer to see if there was any truth in that. She was decent to be sure and just enough that he couldn't make a clear choice between her and Red Streak.

Okay, which one would he pick? Red Streak or What's her face? Red Streak or What's her face? Red Streak? What's her face? Red Streak, What's her face, Red Streak, What's her face, Red Streak, What's her face, Red Streak, What's her face, Red Streak, Butters (?), What's her face…

Oh for the love of God, he'd pick Red Streak.

He puffed out his chest and made his way over to the black-haired girl with the red streak in her hair, completely ignoring Butters who happened to be walking past them, and not seeing the bashful look that what's her face had.

Red Streak spotted him and she slowed down, her eyes lighting up slightly which emboldened the raven-haired jock. Giving her the gentle smile that he had overheard other girls gushing about, he said, "Want to be my girlfriend?"

Red Streak nearby dropped the binder she had in her hands, her face blushing red at the unexpected proposal.

Okay, maybe he was a bit blunt there but he had never asked another girl out before except for Wendy and they were always on and off. Usually, he just had to ask her if she had anything going on and if not, would she like to go to the movies? And whenever he wasn't able to be with her, he'd go with Kyle and Kenny, Cartman inviting himself along. Of course, the past summer had been awkward as Kyle had been M.I.A. for most of it and Cartman had trouble speaking.

"Um, sure," Red Streak finally said, getting her wits about her. Wow, her voice sounded…sexy. Score!

"Want to come over to my house after school?" he asked, his eyes half-lidded. "We can get to know each other better there."

"Okay!" Red Streak said, sounding a bit more chipper but Goddamn, that accent!

"So what should I call you and what number can I get to call you?" he flirted with her, oblivious to how cheesy he sounded.

"You…you can call me Wendy. Or Ash!" Red Streak said quickly.

Oh sweet heaven. She was a Wendy too! Double score! But wait, if he called her Wendy, wouldn't he get confused? Well, there was a simple way to fix this.

"Mind if I call you Wendy 2?" he asked.

Wendy 2 blinked at him, stunned. "Uh…no."

"Alright Wendy 2!" he said happily. "C'mon, let's go! Where are you heading?"

"Lunch?"

"Aw, I was just leaving lunch," he pouted slightly. "Why don't you wait for me in front of the school, after the bell rings, okay? See you then, Wendy 2!"

As he strolled away, almost giddy, he didn't hear her call after him, "Don't call me Wendy 2!"

* * *

Kyra could not believe what she had just seen. There had been Stan and she had watched him as he looked at her then at someone else, his attention switching between them before he went up to another girl and asked her to be his girlfriend.

She felt crushed; no more than crushed. There was no word to describe what she was feeling right now. She wanted to run home and curl up into a ball and just disappear. Either that or get onto X-box Live and slaughter every fucking n00b that got in her way. She was leaning more towards the second one there.

Still, she couldn't stop a couple tears from escaping from her eyes, trailing down her cheeks.

* * *

Rod had to pull his attention away from Brianna during their last period so that he could get a good look at his handiwork. It was always nice to appraise himself of the results and ponder on how he could have done better.

Said handiwork was Ms. Simpleton who had had difficulty walking today and you had to be blind not to see that she was bowlegged currently. Perhaps he had been a bit rough but on second thought, seeing how she glowed still even after hours had passed since she had left his house, perhaps he had put in just enough.

He was unable to resist winking at her, giving Simpleton a predatory grin that had the hunchbacked, old lady blushing furiously.

Yeah, he figured he had an easy A for this class.

"It's weird, isn't it?" Brianna commented. "She's seems like a different person."

"Must've got laid or something," Rod said carelessly as he leaned back into his desk. "Wonder who did the deed."

"I don't even want to think about that," Brianna muttered under her breath. "It's just…it's too gross."

Well, maybe at first it was but once you got going…

"Yeah, best not to think about that," he said out loud. From the corner of his eye, he could tell that Simpleton had overheard him but she was not going to reprimand him in the middle of class, at least not yet anyway. He still had her enthralled and he knew that she would roll over and play dead if he told her do that.

That was why he was able to still wear his hat and not be called out on it. He knew that whenever she looked at it, she would blush. Though, it was a bit awkward trying to comb his fingers through his golden locks with the hat on and that would take away from his sex appeal. He couldn't have that happening, no way. There were still plenty of girls he wanted to bang.

"I wonder why she hasn't given us any assignments," Brianna muttered, unaware that he had overheard her. "She gave us so much work yesterday but she hasn't done anything today."

Yeah, about that, he had had a "talk" about that with her.

And no, he wouldn't go into detail. He didn't kiss and tell, thank you very much.

That didn't stop him from looking at Brianna, his eyes trailing up and down her body subtly as he imagined all the things he could do to her. It made him horny and it made him want to get away from a certain someone who he had invested quite a bit in with little to no progress to show for it.

Hmm, maybe it was time to do a little pushing.

He waited in anticipation for the final bell to ring with Simpleton doing little to nothing in the class. Yeah, she was having trouble walking, something that made him smirk, but the moment he left the classroom, he was on his guard. He didn't want anybody sneaking up on him and kidnapping him again, even if it was for his own good. That and there were a few guys he had noticed glaring at him, probably because he was flirting with their girlfriends or the girls they were crushing on. Heh, if they liked the girl so much, why didn't they grow a pair and ask her out already? Not his fault he was aggressive.

On his way to the parking lot, he spotted Sunny, his eyes roaming up and down her backside and heating up his blood. Oh, he needed her bad. Effortlessly slipping through the crowd, he came up to Sunny from behind and slung an arm on her shoulders, dropping his head down low enough to whisper "Boo," into her ear.

He felt her jump but his arm made sure than she didn't jostle. He grinned at her shock and whispered into her ear, "Come to my place. Right now."

"Uh…I don't know," Sunny said hesitantly, looking to a side. "I have to go to work…"

"Call in sick," he told her, slightly rubbing his cheek into her pink hair. "C'mon, I want you to spend time with me. I'm your boyfriend, right?"

"You are?" she squeaked. After thinking on it for a second, she said quietly, "Well, I guess you are…"

"Yeah, I am," he assured her. "Don't be shy. I swear, you'll have fun."

He continued to lead her towards the parking lot, planning on taking her no matter how hard she resisted. It wasn't like she was putting up a struggle; she was just more indecisive than anything. He pecked the shell of her ear with his lips, so light that she had to wonder if he had done so.

"O…okay," she said quietly, much to his pleasure.

"You can use my house phone," he said a bit louder than before as he stood up to his full height, sliding his arm off her shoulders to intertwine it with her arm and grasp her hand. "Now, let's go before you change your mind."

* * *

It hadn't occurred to Sunny until now that this was the first time she had ever set foot in Rod's home. She had been so used to him stopped at her house to drop her off that when he drove past her house without stopping, she got a little scared.

Actually, her heart just beat faster in her chest, the sensation foreign to her outside of watching a really scary or gory horror film.

When she first entered what she learned to be Rod's house, a building that looked like every other building in town, she was startled at how its inside was different. At her house, it was homely and warm, the kind of place you wanted to be after coming in out of the cold, a place where you could wrap your hands around a mug of hot chocolate and curl up on the couch to watch young adults portraying teenagers get their heads hacked off.

You know, little things like that.

The inside of Rod's house looked like it had been torn up and been remodeled to look like one of those "modern" homes. It was so…so superficial, yeah that was the word. Instead of carpeting and a mat to wipe your feet on at the door, it was tiled and cold. In fact, all of the floor that was in sight was tiled with flattened rugs laying on top, as if trying to introduce a substitute or a cheap attempt at looking inviting. The furniture was leather, cold, cold leather without a sign of pillows or blankets placed on top.

There was a flat screen on the wall and small speakers set up for surround sound. In the middle of the family room was a glass coffee table that only had coasters on top of it. The only pictures on the wall were those abstract pieces of shits, nothing with the family or people even.

Cold was a definite word to describe this place. Cold and fashionable, as if the person who remodeled this place only had the opinions of others in mind.

Now that she thought about it, she had been by this house before and had stopped in front of it, watching a work crew working on it. She hadn't known that this is what they had been making.

Rod shrugged off his leather jacket and hung it up on a metal coat hanger, simultaneously revealing the red tank top that he had on as he dropped his backpack under the coat hanger. Wasn't it cold with so little on? Now that the coat was gone, she could see the muscled arms that she had felt time and again placed on her shoulders and now could spot the fingerless black gloves he wore. Funny, she hadn't noticed he had those on this whole time.

She felt the weight of her own backpack being removed from her, one of those muscled arms resuming its perch on her shoulders and Sunny finding herself being pressed up against a muscled torso with an incredible heat radiating from within it. The position brought a blush to her face; not only had the guy who had shown up at the video store been incredibly handsome but he was buff to boot! He must have worked out regularly, had a gym membership or something. A bit odd she hadn't heard him mention anything about joining any of the sports teams yet.

Rod guided her to the couch where he coaxed her into sitting down, taking a seat right next to and sitting so close that it made her uncomfortable at the lack of personal space.

"Mmm," Rod hummed. "Nice to finally have you here. I can't believe I waited this long."

"This long? For what?" she asked.

"You're so innocent," Rod teased, leaning his face close to hers. "I guess this is why I can't resist doing this."

She had been about to question him what "this" was but Rod had once again taken the initiative and sealed their lips together. Her eyes widened at the enormity of this act and as she opened her lips in a gasp, Rod took the opportunity to delve his tongue into her mouth. This…this was her first kiss…and it was amazing.

There probably were other words she could use to describe it but right now Rod was making it very hard for her to think. Their tongues rubbed together and Rod toyed with her tongue, his tongue brushing up against the roof of her mouth as it wrestled with hers. She released a moan, her head becoming dizzy either from pleasurable sensations she was experiencing or from the lack of oxygen her brain was getting. She couldn't figure out which it was.

She didn't know when Rod ended the kiss but she was blinking dazedly when she figured it out. By then, Rod had her leaning up against him and the flat screen on. She had no idea what was on and surprisingly, she found that she didn't care.

Was it strange of her to want Rod to kiss her again?

"You look so lost," Rod commented, his eyes trained on the flat screen. How did he know what she was thinking if he wasn't looking at her? Did he have psychic powers that he hadn't told her about? "It makes you so cute."

Did he just have this talent for making her blush or something? Because she had lost count how many times she had done so ever since she had met him. It was becoming a habit that she didn't know if she wanted to break or not.

Rod nuzzled the side of her head, his cheek pressed against the top of her head as he was wont to do. "This is nice, isn't it?" he said as if speaking out loud for no other reason than to do so. "Isn't this one of your favorites?"

She had no idea how she knew he was talking about what was on the flat screen and not the intimate position they were in but she refocused on what was in front of her just into time to see a weed trimmer cut into a man's stomach.

"Oh! Oh! It's _Gorefest 2007_!" she exclaimed.

"Who'da thought this would be on now of all times?" Rod chuckled, his arm tightening around her.

She didn't respond, too engrossed in the gore and screams, her heart racing even though she had seen this movie a hundred times. Not once did she wince or hide her face into Rod's chest at the cheap scares; no she watched each and every scene, giggling every once in a while when another corpse was added to the body count.

Maybe she was a bit too involved with _Gorefest 2007_ because after a while, Rod started to shift beside her and began touching her a bit more. By the time the movie was almost over, he was outright petting her and she wasn't paying an iota of attention to him. She didn't hear him huff or see the way he was staring at her but she knew he was up to something the moment he pushed her down against the leather couch cushions and pinned her there using only his body weight.

Once again she was blinking up at him owlishly and she missed the sharpness of those green eyes. Then Rod's mouth was against hers and suddenly, it was like her mind was filled with static. She felt hot; was it hot in here? And what was Rod doing with h-h-h-his tongue and were those his h-h-h-hands massaging her thighs in a way that was exciting her?

Christ, she was stuttering in her own thoughts.

Rod turned his attention to her neck once he released her lips, nipping at her throat and planting butterfly kisses on every piece of skin he could reach. This was unreal; she had never felt such things such as those Rod was inducing in her and to be honest, she didn't want him to stop. She could forget _Gorefest 2007_ as long as he kept licking and nipping…and kissing…and biting…and…

After some time, Rod pulled away, his green eyes molten and gleaming with an unidentifiable emotion. She didn't recognize it at all as no one had ever directed such a look towards her.

"Come upstairs with me," Rod demanded/ordered. "I want to show you something. In my room."

Now what else could she say to that other than yes?

It was all a blur but the next thing that managed to pierce the haze in her mind was Rod pulling her towards a door on the second floor. Once she was in, she found herself stumbling towards a four poster bed that was placed with only the headboard against one wall while Rod locked the door behind them. The bed was big with pillows placed in front of the headboard, the large piece of furniture taking up a lot of room, so much so that she couldn't figure out how Rod had all those wooden chests of drawers in here.

In fact, now that she was getting a good look at what she guessed was Rod's room, this was the most wood she had seen in this house. And…wait, were those…what were they called? Origami? Yeah, origami. Were those those little origami birds? And why were they on one of those dressers? And why did Rod have them in his room?

There was a rush of air around her as Rod picked her up and then she was bouncing on the mattress where she had been plopped. She almost giggled at how eager Rod was acting; this was starting to look like one of those scenes in a horror movie where a young couple was going to "do it." Were they going to "do it?"

Unexpectedly, Rod shoved her back into the bed and once again pinned her down with his body, attacking her mouth this time more savagely than he had down stairs. It…it wasn't as pleasurable this time but she couldn't figure out why that was. Something was different but what was it?

She felt a pressure around her waist and when she was able to pry her face away from Rod's, she could see his hips grinding into hers. There was some rough movements that distracted her soon enough as Rod practically tore her shirt off her, the only thing protecting her modesty being her bra.

Rod's arm slithered against the mattress towards one of the bed posters and when she heard an odd scraping sound, she followed it towards the poster and found to her shock a handcuff attached to it. The pillows on the bed had hidden it from sight but now that it was out, she felt Rod grab one of her wrists and begin moving it towards the cuff.

Suddenly, she wasn't so sure about this.

"Rod?" she squeaked as she began to squirm beneath him. "I…I don't feel comfortable about this. Can we stop?"

Like that, Rod stilled as if a switch had been flicked. She watched him anxiously, wondering what he was going to do next. Lifting his head up, his eyes glared into hers and she almost flinched from that burning look he was giving her.

"Scared?" Rod asked and Sunny noticed the lack of friendliness in it. It was like he was not just teasing her but taunting her as well. "Don't be. I know what I'm doing. Besides, this is how people do it."

"They do?" she asked hesitantly. "I…I don't know about this…"

"But…don't you like me?" he asked her, his voice conveying hurt, as if her distrust of him was bothering him. "Don't you want to be my girlfriend?"

"I do," she answered quickly.

"Well, if you want to be my girlfriend, you gotta trust me," he told her. "If you really like me, you'll let me…" He didn't need to finish, she knew what he meant.

She bit her lip, glancing back at the cuff that gleamed in the lighting of the room. She didn't like it…but she had never had a boyfriend before. Was it too much to ask that she have someone she could love in her life? Someone that wasn't related to her by blood or thought she was boring? She wanted so badly to be accepted…

"Okay," she choked out.

As the handcuff closed around her wrist tightly, it clicked with a tone of finality.

* * *

Sawyer Thompson: **Doomed-Orange-Parka**

Author's Note: Also an added mention, "Wendy 2" is Gwendolyn Long by **Nyiko**. And if you haven't read the Author's Note at the top, please do.


	7. Sunny's Heartache

Author's Note: Worry no longer, xXBeyondBirthdayXx has finally replied and everything's a go with Rhiannon. Now, on another note, if you guys thought that what happened last chapter is bad, before long that will be a fond memory. One last thing, I came across an OC by long time reader/reviewer ShadowMajin and I just had to use the character. SM, hope this meets your expectations. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Sunny's Heartache

Sunny had to sit out of school for a whole day. She was just so sore after everything she did with Rod that if she tried to walk, she would be in so much pain. So after Rod had dropped her off at her house, her mother, a small woman with gentle green eyes that were consumed with worry, had fussed over her and taken her up to her bed, forcing her brother to help her up the stairs.

Thomas had grumbled about it but helped anyway when he found he couldn't get out of it but Sunny really hadn't been paying any attention to what was going on around her at the time. Everything in her head was a blank; she couldn't put any thoughts together or anything. All she could do was absentmindedly rub at her wrists which had been chaffed under the handcuffs Rod had persuaded her to let him put on her.

Ultimately, her mother judged that she must have a 24 hour bug and all she needed was a little rest. Unwittingly, Sunny let her mother believe this as she was still captivated with how raw she felt.

The thing that eventually brought her back to reality was when she had managed to gather up her wits to call the video store she worked at to tell her manager she wouldn't be in that day. The guy was peeved though, especially after she learned that she hadn't called them the night before. That's right, she had been too distracted by Rod at his house that she had forgotten to call in first. Ooh, was she going to be fired because of this? She didn't want to be since she enjoyed working at the video store.

Fortunately, all she was going to lose was a sick day for playing hooky the day before but she had to come in tomorrow, no ifs, ands, or buts.

And now it was tomorrow and she felt less sore than yesterday. After a trial run where she went to the bathroom, she figured that she was well enough to go to school today. Her mother was still a bit worried about her but she let her go nonetheless. That was fine with Sunny because now after two days she was going to see (insert blush here) her boyfriend.

It was almost squeal-worthy to say that.

Rod, though, wasn't there to pick her up. Strange but now that she thought about it, he hadn't been here to pick her up yesterday either. Did he anticipate that she was going to be sore and so didn't come and all she needed to do was call him up so that he would know she was okay? She wasn't sure but then again, he was her first boyfriend. This was all so new to her…

Well, she called him but he didn't pick up. Huh, she wondered why he didn't answer. He was usually so prompt whenever she called him. Maybe he didn't have a signal?

So that would mean she needed another mode of transportation. Though not her first choice, she knew that it was the very choice she made all the time for the main reason that her mother didn't trust her behind the wheel of a car just yet.

She would have to go to the bus stop. Joy.

Quickly, she sped up her pace, praying to herself that she didn't get there late. At this time in the day, there would only be one bus driving around to pick up stragglers and the driver was a bit…eccentric to say the least. Especially when you pissed him off. Pray to whatever deity of your choice as hard as you can that you didn't piss this driver off.

To her dismay, she found that the bus was pulling up to the stop and she was nowhere close to it. She would have to run if she wanted to stand a chance, no matter how small that chance was, of getting onto that bus.

She wasn't the most physically active person there was so while she could make good time in a sprint initially, in the long run she would be better off walking. Please oh please don't leave. Please for the love of—!

She made it just in time to slip an arm into the closing door and as she waved the limb around wildly, she saw through the dirtied, fiberglass windows on the door that the driver was giving her a look of disgust. Well, she thought it was disgust but it was vague, very vague as someone hadn't cleaned the bus door in a long time.

As the engine rumbled, the door slid open reluctantly, making a loud creaking sound that was more ominous than it was concerning.

Peering down at her with a now confirmed look of disgust was a heavy set man who filled up the entire driver's seat, a paunch shoved against the large, thin steering wheel that made him look bigger than he already was. He reeked of…something, Sunny didn't want to begin thinking about what it could be, and had a five o' clock shadow that was so stubbly that he probably hadn't used a razor since the Stone Age. Perched on top of his head was one of those taxi cab hats that only served to make him look more like a slob than anything.

"Think yer too good to show up at the bus stop on time, huh," the bus driver grunted, sneering at her. "By all rights I should leave your scrawny ass right here. You think it's easy having to drive around a bunch of snot-nosed punks like you?"

"S-sorry," she stuttered, wincing at each sentenced that spewed from the driver.

"Oh, well that makes everything better, doesn't it?" the driver spat. "You're making me late, takin' these brats to school and making my life harder, but it's okay because you're sorry!" With each word, his voice grew louder and louder, flecks of spit sprinkling from his lips. "You're not sorry! Just look at you! With your pink hair and small breasts, you probably think you have it tough. I make less than minimum wage but do you see me complaining? Oh no, you think I'm suppose to be your little house nigger that has to smile and say, 'it no problem, mastah." Well piss on that!"

"Uh, you're white," a hesitant voice spoke from somewhere within the bus.

"Who said that?" the bus driver demanded, shoving himself out of his seat to glare at the rest of the bus's occupants. "Do I needs to get mah whooping stick and get medieval on yer asses, huh?" When no one else said anything, he snorted smugly and sat back in his seat. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Pussies, all of ya! Don't have the _balls_ to say it to mah face!"

Meanwhile, Sunny has snuck onto the bus so that way if the driver decided to close the doors on her without letting her get on first, she wouldn't be left behind. However, she remained on the steps, waiting for the bus driver to move out of her way so that she could take her seat unseen. Unfortunately, the bus driver spotted her and said, "What do you think you're doin', hmm? I can't drive my bus just because you think you're the Virgin Mary and too good to sit on my seats. Fucking school regulations. Go on! Sit your fucking ass down!"

She was down the bus aisle in record time.

Grumbling to himself, the bus driver closed the doors to the bus and started the large, rickety automobile down the street. It was completely silent until there was a large fart emitted from the bus driver's ass.

"Oops," the bus driver said apologetically without a trace of being sorry in his voice. "I guess it's too late to tell y'all that the window locks are broken. Heh heh."

It was going to be a long ride…

* * *

It was a grueling ride but when they finally arrived in front of the high school, Sunny was just as happy as the next person.

"Go on! Git off mah bus you little cum buckets!" the bus driver barked at them and off they went. A couple of kids kissed the snow covered ground as soon as they got off while others were gasping for fresh air.

Sunny wasn't as expressive as they were but she was still glad nonetheless.

That joy simmered down though as soon as she spotted a tall figure a distance away, one that she recognized as being Rod…and he was talking to another girl…and there was his motorcycle right beside him.

What was going on here? Perhaps she needed to take a closer look even though every instinct she had was screaming at her not to.

As she drew closer to the pair, she was able to make out more and more details about them. Rod was standing there in his leather jacket, peaked hat and tight pants, his helmet tucked under an arm lazily. The girl was way smaller than him with layered, dirty blonde hair that stopped just past her shoulders and had tanned skin that looked almost sun-kissed. She wore a long-sleeved shirt that hugged her upper body tightly and blue jeans that cradled long, curvy legs, betraying how athletic the limbs were.

Sunny didn't recognize the girl on sight and as she stepped closer and closer, her steps shortening into she was practically waddling, she saw that the two hadn't noticed that she was nearby. She clutched at the straps of her backpack and swallowed as her anxiety increased.

Then Rod turned his head unexpectedly, as if he sensed something, and those green eyes of his landed on her. His lips, though, did not curl upwards as they normally did, nor did those eyes light up. It was like he was looking at her like she was a bug under a microscope or something.

"Oh," Rod said dully, none of the warmth she usually associated with his voice audible, "Sunny. Didn't know you were coming."

"Who's this?" the dirty-blonde asked curiously, peering at her with wide, dark brown eyes.

Sunny squirmed under the scrutiny, unsure of what to say and opting not to say anything at all, her eyes looking up to Rod, questioning.

Rod shrugged his shoulders as if he was being put upon. "Alicia, this is Sunny. Met her a couple weeks ago. She's okay."

"Sunny? That's nice," Alicia said. "You know, you look cool with that color in your hair but who cut it? It looks like someone butchered it with a machete."

Sunny couldn't say anything to that. How was she suppose to tell this Alicia that it was her brother who had cut it while in the midst of a delusion that he wanted to be a hairdresser? It…didn't turn out well.

"I was wondering the same thing," Rod said coolly. "Did you do it yourself?"

What was this? She looked up helplessly at Rod, her eyes pleading while she scrambled to figure out just what was going on. Weren't she and Rod girlfriend and boyfriend? That's what he had told her when he had…had…

"Yeah, she's a quiet person," Rod said offhandedly as he slipped an arm around Alicia's shoulders, leading her away from the pink-haired girl. "Sometimes I wonder if she's standing beside me sometimes, she so quiet."

"She didn't say much," Alicia agreed.

As the two walked off, Sunny continued to watch them, a dull throbbing welling up in her chest. What was this feeling she was feeling? It made her throat dry up and her eyes become wet.

She didn't understand what was going on…

* * *

"So, Ash," Bebe said conversationally as she greeted Gwendolyn in the hallway. "I heard you hooked up with Stan a couple days ago. Is it true?"

Gwendolyn peered at her friend as if weighing her words for some kind of insult but finding none. Relaxing visibly, she shrugged and said, "Yeah, it's true. He came out of the blue and asked if I wanted to be his girlfriend."

"Wow," Bebe said, slightly stunned that the rumor she had heard was true. She had been hearing that Stan and Gwendolyn were a thing but getting a shitload of schoolwork made her forget about it until she saw her friend up ahead in the hallway. She needed to see if there was any truth and now she had it.

"I wonder what you had to do to land him," Devin said, coming out of nowhere. "Did you blow him in the bathroom or something?"

"Hey, I said he just showed up and asked me," Gwendolyn said, frowning at Devin.

"That's not what I heard," Devin said offhandedly.

"Is it because maybe you were the one to say it?" Bebe intervened. "That's the first time I've ever heard of blowjobs, Devin."

"Whatever," Devin shrugged. Bebe, though, thought she saw Devin look at Gwendolyn a bit too long. If she had to guess, Bebe thought that she looked a bit pissed. Huh, why would Devin be pissed? Is it because she was currently single while Gwendolyn was going steady?

"Stan's good," Gwendolyn continued to speak, even though she was not asked about anything further, "but there's something that bugs me."

Ooh, what was this? They just paired up recently and already Gwendolyn had something to complain about? Bebe definitely needed to find out what it was.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Stan keeps calling me Wendy 2," Gwendolyn grumbled. "I've told him not to call me that but he keeps on doing it."

Gwendolyn was interrupted by Devin laughing, the brunette clutching at her stomach as laughter caused her gut to spasm. Bebe stared at Devin for a minute, wondering what had caused her to act like this. Thinking back to what was said, it finally hit her and she struggled to keep her laughter from escaping, her cheeks puffing up slightly.

Now she got it. Oh Stan, you dumb motherfucker…

"It's not funny!" Gwendolyn snapped at Devin.

"It kinda is…" Bebe managed to force out. "You like to be called Wendy too. Is…is it Stan's fault his old girlfriend was Wendy?"

"No, it's sick," Gwendolyn scowled. "It just makes me think he isn't over Wendy Testaburger yet."

That got Devin to shut up and she was scowling too at the mention of her nemesis.

"Well, then give him reasons to get over her," Bebe advised. "Make him _forget_ that he used to go out with her at all."

"Hey, you just might be right about that," Gwendolyn mused. Smirking, she said, "I'll make him forget all about Wendy, just wait and see! He'll be calling me Wendy, or Ash, and not Wendy 2, thank you very much!"

"You're on fire girl," Bebe teased.

"Well, if you fuck up, just know I'll be there to clean up your mess," Devin chirped.

"I'm glad to know you're so supportive," Gwendolyn deadpanned.

* * *

"Zat poor girl," Christophe commented as he watched a pink-haired girl follow after the newest addition to their class like a puppy dog. Said addition was not even deigning to give a look back at her and Christophe didn't need to be five feet away to know the girl was going through a slow heartbreak.

It pissed him off to see this kind of thing, yes, but it was not enough to motivate him to do anything about it.

"What? She figured out she's been played?" Charlie asked absentmindedly as she opened up her locker, slightly disappointed not to see a certain floral symbol waiting for her. Damn, what the hell was he doing? Hoarding them or something?

"It appears so," Christophe replied. "Et is a sad zing to see but sometimes a person needs to go zrough et. Toughens zem up."

"Tough love, huh?" Charlie said.

"Americans, zey are so sensitive," Christophe only said in reply.

"What are we sensitive about?" Sawyer asked, coming up beside the Frenchman, obviously overhearing the conversation. He looked upbeat, Christophe noticed, and to be a bit honest, it was kind of contagious.

"Oh, 'ust 'ow ze people in zis country are can get upset over ze littlest of zings," Christophe said.

Seeing what he was looking at, Sawyer nodded in comprehension, a frown marring that face. "Shouldn't someone do something about that?"

"Are you volunteering?" Christophe asked.

Sawyer looked uncomfortable at that and looked away. "I…I'm not good with that kind of thing."

"Is zat so?" Christophe mused. "You are going to have to make me a list of ze zings zat you are good at zen."

"Hey, screw you," Sawyer retorted though it looked more like he was pouting than anything.

"Okay, why don't you two lovebirds get a room or something?" Charlie interrupted, rolling her eyes.

Sawyer squawked at that while Christophe looked at his best friend fondly. "Don't get your tits in a twist," he said coolly. "'as ze wheezle been neglecting you lately?"

"Fuck off you dick," Charlie shot back though you could tell there was no malice in her voice. At least, Christophe didn't hear any.

"Careful," Kenny said as he passed by, "she might sic her attack dog on you if you say the wrong thing."

"Attack dog?" Sawyer asked, watching as the blond vanish into the growing crowd of students.

"No'zing important," Christophe waved the matter away. "'ust an inside joke."

"You wish," Charlie snapped at him playfully. "I'm going to look for him. Hopefully he isn't stalking your ex."

As Charlie split, Sawyer looked up at him curiously.

"An ex? Oh yeah, you used to go out with that Rhiannon chick, didn't you?"

Hoping to answer any questions before they could be asked, he said, "Et's a long story."

"I was just going to say you had good tastes," Sawyer shrugged.

"Not 'ccoring to 'er," Christophe said.

"But isn't that always the way?" Sawyer commented cheerily. "First you're soul mates, next you're at each other's throats."

"Eh, not quite," he shrugged.

"Ah, it's the whole 'it's complicated' spiel," Sawyer said knowingly. "Heard it a million times."

"I'd like to 'ear some specifics on zat," Christophe said. "Tell me 'bout zem on ze way to class. Et might 'elp me fix my problem…"

* * *

Sitting in Dr. Gunn's class, Sunny was once again thrown into turmoil. While she was in her usual seat, Rod was not. Instead he was in another part of the classroom, talking amiably with a curly blonde all in black. Well, Rod was doing most of the talking but Sunny could see this dark clad girl was captivated if only because Rod didn't seem to take any offense to what she said.

She could barely hear the two from where she was but she was sure that she had picked up a German accent from one of them.

She couldn't figure it out; what was going on here? Wasn't Rod suppose to be her boyfriend and if so, why wasn't he acting like all the others? She thought boyfriends were suppose to dote on girlfriends (before they were sliced in half by machetes), not ignore them like what Rod was doing.

Dr. Gunn was late for class, not showing up until fifteen minutes after the bell rang with the walker he was never seen without nowadays. He glared at them all and cleared his throat only to be ignored by everyone who were too engrossed with their own conversations. Sunny could feel the tension that was boiling up within the toady man and she wondered if he was going to expand like the guy in that Kurt Russell movie.

She was in the mood to see some guts and brain tissue flying around so maybe she was taking too much of an interest in this.

Unexpectedly, Dr. Gunn raised one of his hands and placed it on a small chalkboard that Sunny hadn't noticed before. With an abrupt motion, he scratched his fingernails against the board, raising a bunch of protesting screams from the class who covered their ears with their hands.

"Thought I didn't have one of these things, did you?" Dr. Gunn sneered at them. "There's a reason I'm a doctor, kiddies."

Daringly, Kenny McCormick asked, "Why do you have one of those things lying around?"

"Because scratching your fingernails against a dry-erase board isn't the same," Dr. Gunn said slowly as if he was speaking to a retarded kid. "Any moron with a bachelor degree could tell you that!

"McCormick, just because you are one of my favorites does not mean I won't kick your ass," Dr. Gunn said. "One more peep out of you and I will shove my walker so far up your ass, you'll be vomiting up your colon."

Okay, that would be neat to see. Sunny kept her fingers crossed, hoping that Kenny would continue to egg the teacher on. To her disappointment, Kenny only shrugged and sat back in his seat.

"That's what I thought," Dr. Gunn snipped. "All balls and no brains, the lot of ya! Well, I hope you all are ready for a pop quiz."

"But you haven't given us anything to study!" a brave student complained.

"Who's the doctor here?" Dr. Gunn retorted. When no one answered, he continued, "That's what I thought. Everything off your desks! Don't make me come back there!"

* * *

Rod was disgruntled by Gunn's little pop quiz and as he trudged out of Gunn's class, he grumbled to himself all the things he wanted to do to the man. Many of them involved giving Gunn a reason to really need that walker.

Still, he had another prospect in this Greer Eade girl he had spoken to in Gunn's class. The German accent was a nice touch; he had an urge to get her to sing Winter Wonderland and hear how her accent would mangle the song.

It was just a thought.

Without looking, he knew he was being followed by Sunny. Out of all the shy girls he had had, Sunny was the first to really follow him around. Back in Oregon, shy girls would just watch him once he had his way with them and none of them would trail after him like Sunny was. He had no more interest in her and certainly he had no intentions of going steady with her either.

He was going to have to scare her off is what he needed to do. And up ahead, he could see someone who would help him with it, even if they weren't aware that he was doing it.

Squaring his shoulders, he turned the charm on and came up from behind the girl, leaning forward so that his mouth was close to her ear and whispering, "Boo." Wendy jumped and spun around, her furious eyes softening as they landed on him. Ah, she was so easy to read, this girl. He wondered what other emotions he could get those eyes to express.

"Don't do that Rod! You scared me!" Wendy scolded him lightheartedly, punching him on the arm. Hmm, there was a little power in that fist; he almost felt a twinge of pain there for a second.

"Oops," he said nonchalantly. "Didn't know you startled easily."

"What are you, my stalker?" Wendy asked teasingly.

"Naw, I'm not your ex," he teased back.

"Well, you'll be an ex soon if you don't pay some attention to your girl," Wendy pointed out.

Rod winced internally. She knew about Sunny? If his beliefs about her were right, he knew she was one of those types that like commitment, the type of thing he always avoided as if it was a contagious disease. A lot of damage control would be needed if she found out what he was…unless he beat the gossip before it reached her ears.

"It might be a bit too late," he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. "It wasn't really working out."

"Already?" Wendy deadpanned. She gave some thought to what she had heard from him then unexpectedly said, "Well, Bebe was more fickle, I guess. She liked Kyle for about two days before she went out with Clyde."

"Eh, we'd been seeing each other for about a couple weeks," he said quickly without making it seem like he was trying to jump onto something. He shrugged his shoulders to further the effect. "It was going fine until school started and we started seeing each other less and it just…I didn't want to ruin anything between us so I proposed that we break up."

"So you were the one to bring it up?" Wendy asked, sounding skeptical.

Okay, that might not have been the best thing to say but he needed to keep his head.

"Make of it what you will," he told her. "The facts are facts. Anyway, I'll see you around, alright?"

"Sure," Wendy told him. "Don't act like Kenny, 'kay?"

"You got it," he winked at her and continued on his way. He was going to have to keep an eye on her but he was sure that she believed some part of what he had told her.

He might have to speed his timetable on her a bit though.

* * *

There he was, the Sex God, walking side by side with the boy she knew as Sawyer Thompson and Rhiannon Edwards found she could not tear her eyes away from her ex. She couldn't help that she looked at him in longing, even after their breakup in the spring.

It wasn't that Christophe was the best she ever had, he was the only one she ever had so that in and of itself made him the best, didn't it?

She sighed, not wanting to watch after Christophe who was probably putting the moves on Sawyer as they spoke. Yeah, it was the homosexual tendencies that Christophe had confessed to have that had ended up breaking them, though she wouldn't admit that she had any fault with that.

It had begun sometime in late March, early April, about the time when spring was just starting to show up. Charlie White, the best friend of Christophe, had gotten into a fight with her mortal enemy Bain Cynis on top of Stark's Pond. Bain had fallen through the ice and Christophe had been the one to resuscitate him. To think, the guy who had spent what seemed like years trying to kill her was the one to take her then boyfriend away from her. Bain had ended up with amnesia but his taint on their relationship had succeeded where various sharp objects, kidnappings, and murder attempts had failed.

She and Christophe the Sex God were separated.

If Bain hadn't had amnesia, she would have sworn that he had planned for this to happen. At least the amnesia had prevented her from being attacked as often.

But what did it matter, really? With Bain no longer around to provide a threat, their relationship had deteriorated to the point Christophe had to corner her in a women's restroom at the mall.

That had been explosive and had gone as far as to terminate any chance they had of getting back together. Now that she had had a lot of time, and she did mean a lot of time, to think over it, she had to admit that Christophe had had his points but he had only talked about himself. It was as if he had only thought about how it all had affected him and not even cared about how if affected her.

Now that she had had time to cool off, she realized she could have handled the situation better. As good as Ben and Jerry were, they were fattening and she had to work out all summer to get back into decent shape.

There were still times when she wondered if he had ever cared about her. He had used her once before to hook up with another girl but after that mess had been sorted out, they had gotten together for reals but even with his commitment, she had always wondered if he could really be trusted.

And so, here they were, separated and she knew that she was yearning for the days when they were still together and he only had eyes for her.

"That's a long face for a pretty face. Something on your mind?"

That was an unfamiliar voice and she frowned, put off that whoever the owner of the voice was had taken it upon their self to butt into her business. Turning to face the person, what she ended up finding was a chest and a leather jacket staring her right in the face and she had to crane her head up to see if there was a face she could put to it.

Okay, there was no denying that the guy was hot but really, what was up with that hat? Sure those smoldering green eyes could send chills down your spine but really, in her opinion that hat ruined everything the way it was perched on those golden locks.

And then he was leaning closer, an arm extended and a hand planted on the locker beside her. She wasn't alarmed by this but she sure as hell wanted to know what he thought he was doing. So with a hand, she placed it on the muscular chest and pushed him back.

The guy only smirked at this and it peeved her while at the same time made her heart flutter. He looked good with a smirk on his face; it reminded her of someone else.

"What do you want?" she asked, trying to hide the unexpected feeling she was experiencing.

"Just wanted to know if you are all right," the guy said, shrugging his shoulders. "You look down."

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes and squeezed her way around him.

"You know, he doesn't know what he's given up," the guy said conversationally but his words were enough to freeze her in her tracks. "You'd have to be insane to let go of someone like you."

"What do you know?" she spun around, hissing at him.

"I know the look," the guy continued, not taking his eyes off her. "You're sad but at the same time you want something. It's something you had but you lost it and now you want it back. You want it back so bad that it makes you miserable but you can't help it and you keep wanting it and wanting it."

She didn't want to admit it but those words were hitting something in her. It was like he was reading her mind or knew everything about her. It was kinda scary.

"You're not some kind of stalker, are you?" she asked warily.

The guy chuckled. "Naw, just moved here recently. The name's Rod."

"Rhiannon," she said cautiously. "You're not talking to me because you want something from me, right?"

"I just thought you might need some cheering up," Rod said. "I understand why you'd think I want something else. I'm the new guy and you know nothing about me."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "What makes you think that?"

"Well, the way you're looking at me," Rod pointed out. "You don't trust me. A bunch of the guys around here give me the same looks but the girls have been nice."

"I bet they have," she grunted in agreement, eyeing him up and down. "I bet you've already tried out for the sport teams already. If anything, that'll get the guys to like you."

"You don't say…" Rod said to himself. "Well, I haven't yet but now that you mention it, I think I'll check out what stuff they got around here."

"Just football and that's about it," she told him. "Don't be expecting a lot."

"I'll keep that in mind," Rod said. "You sure I can't help you out, though?"

"I'm fine," she said quickly. "I need to be going. Class will start soon." And she was off, walking away quickly. Her heart was pounding in her chest in a way she hadn't felt in quite some time. At least she could say that she hadn't blurted out anything that would embarrass her…yet.

In her haste, she found herself almost running over Greer Eade who managed to sidestep out of the way just in time. Greer cocked an eyebrow at her, her bright green eyes piercing right into the walking rainbow of a girl.

"Vhat are you running from, a hoard of hormonal guys?" the blonde deadpanned with a German accent. "Too good to look out for others?"

"Only one guy," she said hurriedly. "He…he makes me feel…"

"It vouldn't happen to be Rod, vould it?" Greer asked bluntly.

Rhiannon blinked at the darker personality. What was that hard look the other was giving her? Granted, Greer was not really a people person but she seemed a bit different this time. And how did she know about Rod anyway? She had just met him!

"Why?" she asked.

"Nothing," Greer grunted as she marched away, Rhiannon just catching the lightest traces of pink on those cheeks. Weird.

A shrill ring cut through her musings and Rhiannon groaned to herself as she recognized the bell. Great, she was late. She was so not in the mood to get bitched out by a cunt of a teacher.

* * *

"Jesus Christ, where will he stop?" Stan demanded as he glared subtly at Rod. "I thought he was sticking with that girl with the pink hair."

"Don't hate the player, hate the game," Kenny advised lazily, not really concerned about his friend. He was out of the "pick on the new kid" bandwagon mainly because he was bored and had a more enjoyable time getting poon tang. That and he didn't feel like getting decapitated again.

"Oh what, you're on his side?" Stan demanded, glaring at the blond.

"No, it's too much work hatin'," Kenny shrugged.

"Besides," Kyle spoke up, "this can't last forever. Eventually all the girls will figure out he's a douche and ignore him. Shouldn't you be more concerned with your new girlfriend?"

"Wendy 2?" Stan questioned. "Maybe. But remember Kyle, I'm just using her to make Wendy jealous so she will get back together with me."

"I'll just say this now and don't think bad of me for this but I don't think it's going to work," Kyle explained to his best friend. Kenny could have told the Jew that he shouldn't bother; Stan was in one of his moods where he steamrolled over everything and once he came back to his senses, he would apologize for being an asshole. Happened all the time, it was no use trying to stop it once it began.

"Of course it will!" Stan defended. "It works in the movies!"

"Stan, I overheard Wendy talking about…Wendy 2," Kyle said. "She said she was happy that you found someone else and that maybe now she could revoke that restraining order she has against you. I don't think she's one bit jealous."

"She wants to remove the restraining order? Sweet!" Stan cheered. "It's working already guys! We'll be back together in no time, see?"

"Kyle, don't," Kenny cut in when the Jew looked like he was going to try and contradict Stan. "He won't listen to you. Plus, the guys in those movies Stan has watched end up falling for the person they're using. He's setting himself up for fail."

"I know," Kyle sighed, looking at his best friend forlornly. "But I still have to try Kenny. It's what friends do."

"You're right about that," Kenny agreed, "but friends also let friends fuck up so that can laugh about it later. By that, I mean you and me ripping on Stan for thinking this idea of his would work."

"That's true," Kyle agreed.

"Anyway, you should be more worried about that boyfriend of yours," Kenny continued. "Who is it again? Whoever it is, tell them they got to lighten up on the rough sex. You can't keep limping into school like this."

Kyle blushed a red that could put his fiery locks to shame. Kenny thought it made him look cute (no homo) but still, his concern for his friend was real. He had never thought one of his friends would get a butt buddy, least of all Kyle because this would only give Cartman more ammunition to use against him, but homo or no homo he would still try to be there for the guys that weren't there for him.

They should fucking appreciate it; he's killed himself to save those bastards from God only knows what.

"Damn it, he just got her number!" Stan complained, reminding the two that he was still there and had apparently not been listening to them.

"Give it a rest already," Kenny grumbled.

"At this rate, he'll be getting more ass than you Kenny," Stan said idly, not paying any attention to his words or the way the blond stiffened in his seat.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold the fuck up. More ass than him? Kenny Casanova McCormick? The lady magnet of the school? The only person to catch AIDS twice and live from it? No fucking way.

"Uh, Kenny?" Kyle asked hesitantly. "Something wrong?"

Those words were able to center the blond but his mind was working a mile a minute. It looked like he had some competition for his self-titled crown. Well, he wasn't about to lose it without a fight, no way. If he wasn't known for being an oversexed pervert, then people would forget all about him.

It was time to pull out those old numbers and start tapping some ass. Now, where on his arm did he write them down?

"Whoa! Kenny! What the hell are you doing?" Kyle exclaimed. "Are you stripping? Stop it!"

Pfft, as if a thing like school would stop him from taking his clothes off.

"Dude Kenny! What the fuck!" Stan added his two cents in, covering his eyes with a hand as if trying to protect himself from a psychologically scarring scene.

Fucking pussy.

* * *

As the day slowly dragged on and on, Sunny was finding that yes, the pain in her chest could get worse. Indeed, it increased in intensity whenever she saw Rod flirt with another girl. Tears were becoming a common landmark on her checks, so much so that she had stopped wiping them away.

At the rate she was going, she was sure to rub her cheeks raw. If there was any time that she wished to get sucked into the ground and abducted by cannibalistic aliens, that time was now.

Currently, it was between classes, sometime in the afternoon she guessed having lost track of what time of the day it was. She was peeking around a corner, awkwardly leaning over a trashcan that she didn't bother to move out of her way. Down the hallway, maybe twenty or thirty feet away, was Rod and next to him was yet another girl he was talking to. She thought she recognized this one as being Devin Brasch, one of those popular girls.

She bit her lip, not enough to tear it but more than enough to give her discomfort as she continued to watch Rod put the moves on Devin. Why did this hurt so badly? It felt like her heart was caving in in her chest…

Devin threw her head back slightly as she laughed at something Rod told her. Those perfect white teeth of hers were reflecting the dull, man-made lights from the ceiling just so and it was enough for Sunny to duck back around the corner, hand clutching her chest over her heart.

She wanted to run home, crawl under her bed and just sob out all her woes. Never before had she ever felt anything of this magnitude before. Why was this happening to her? What had she done to deserve this?

Summoning enough courage, she peeked back around the corner to see what was happening now and she froze as she saw Rod lean in close to Devin, pecking the popular girl on the lips. Sure it was chaste but Sunny had never felt so betrayed as she did now. Pulling back, she slid down against the wall until her rear was planted on the tiled floor. Her heart was hammering painfully in her chest and her overwhelming need to bawl was about to crush her.

Things…things just couldn't get any worse. They couldn't.

Slowly, a shadow crept over her, covering her in darkness. She blinked through her tears as she caught sight of two booted feet in front of her and she sniffed. Someone had noticed her, someone other than Rod. Slowly, she raised her eyes up, higher and higher as she took in the sight of this observer but with each and every inch that she took in, the more her heart began to sink, this time not in pain but in absolute fear.

He wasn't very tall but with her curled up against the wall and floor like this, he towered over her. That black trenchcoat of his enveloped his slight form, creating an aura of darkness that only served to make him more menacing than he already was. However, it was his eyes that froze her in totality; a pair of simple looking eyes that were heterochromatic, the right eye brown and the left one green. Those eyes bored down at her flatly as if he was studying her through a microscope.

Terror was slowly welling up within her as no one wanted to be on the receiving end of that gaze, catching their reflection in those horrible eyes. In some ways, maybe this was a blessing? If there was anybody who could put an end to the pain she was feeling…it was him.

Bain Cynis.

Slowly, Bain lowered himself until he was crouched in front of her, that same look of bland indifference on his face, not revealing a hint of the twisted thoughts that were undoubtedly lurking in that head. A hand extended out and she winced back as far as she could, shutting her eyes in anticipation of whatever torture he was about to inflict on her.

Instead, she felt a thumb press against her cheek and wiped the thick trail of tears away. Opening her tear soaked eyes, she looked questioningly at Bain, wondering just what it was he was doing.

Wiping away the other trail of tears that stained her other cheek, Bain raised his other hand up and along with the other one began to pat her shoulders, smoothing out the wrinkles in her shirt.

"The pitiful look of heartbreak," Bain's velvety yet scratchy voice spoke, commenting as if he was just stating a random fact. "Even the best of us go through it."

What…was…was Bain Cynis, the boogeyman of South Park High trying to…comfort her? What was going on?

"To think, such an emotion can take the greatest of men and bring them to their knees," Bain continued. "It's so powerful, terrifying, and yet the one thing we humans crave more than anything else on this planet."

Sunny continued to stare at Bain, wondering where he was trying to go with this or if there was even a point to all this. And once again, why was this cold-blooded slasher talking with her of all people? Was he just buttering her up before he went in for the kill? Well, she'd rather skip the pleasantries and get on to her death scene. At least it would relieve her of this pain, this heartbreak as Bain called it.

"You look so innocent, like a child," Bain said. "It's as if the whole world is just one grand adventure for you, a fantastic story that you must enact and explore. We all begin that way, I suppose, but the fact you still have this look…and at your age."

Despite her caution, she couldn't help but be lulled by that voice. It was as if he was speaking to her like she was an old friend…

"Your inexperience is something precious, something to hold on to," Bain told her. "It's not something you find every day and it would be a pity if you let it go so easily." A hand cupped her chin and raised her head up slightly so that she couldn't look away from those hypnotizing eyes.

"But," Bain said, "even as inexperienced as you are, it does not excuse you from your responsibilities." Was it just her or did it get colder all of a sudden? The hand that was gently cupping her chin suddenly tightened harshly, long, spindly fingers digging into her chin. "That boy toy of yours," Bain continued, his voice not rising a bit, "is overstepping his bounds. Now, I want you to do a little favor for me and in exchange, I won't carve whatever baby fat you have left in your face out."

The words weren't even out of his mouth when a large hunting knife made an appearance and found a place pressed against her face. Just the slightest of twitches and that blade would be cutting her face open.

She knew she should've been scared and she had been right.

"I want you to pass on a little message for me," Bain told her, his voice hardening. "Tell Mr. Woods to stay away from Charlotte. If he doesn't, tell him I'll castrate him or make him a woman. Something along those lines. Be sure to give him this warning, whore, or it just won't be him on the chopping block. Understand?"

She swallowed and did her best to give him a nod, too scared to use her own voice.

"Good little slut," Bain said, smirking cruelly at her. He roughly shoved her back, her head smacking against the wall, as he stood up. The knife was gone but she knew that he could probably take it out and gut her with it in no less than a second if he felt like it…at least that's what she heard from all the whispers and gossip. "Better run along to your owner. Dawdle too long and I'm afraid you won't only be left behind but I'll have to impound you in the kennel."

She closed her eyes in the vain belief that if she couldn't see him, he couldn't see her. She heard his boots squeak against the floor and she curled up tighter into a ball as she felt his malevolent presence lessen the father he moved away from her.

She was in-between a rock and a hard place now and she was tempted to ignore what Bain had told her to do in favor of winding up on his chopping block if only to put herself out of her misery.

Her survival instincts, though, were screaming at her to get up and find Rod as soon as possible. As much as a part of her wanted to die, another part fought vigorously to live.

No matter what, she was trapped and as the bell for the next class rang, she felt as if she had just entered the Gates of Hell.

* * *

Bus Driver: **ShadowMajin**

Alicia Stone: **IFreakingLoveYouNot**

Greer Eade: **divineravyn too lazy to login**

Rhiannon Edwards: **xXBeyondBirthdayXx**

Author's Note: That last seen was intended for the next chapter but I figured what the hell and decided to reintroduce Bain Cynis at long last. I had to give him an entrance, though, and that's what all the build-up thus far has been leading to. Things should start picking up soon now that everyone's favorite sociopathic OC is back.


	8. We All Wear Masks

Author's Note: I know what you guys are thinking but I have a good explanation why there was no update last week. Two words: computer problems. Luckily, I didn't lose anything; I uploaded a good amount of it onto FanFiction so in essence, I didn't lose anything. Other than that, it was slow going with this chapter anyway. There may be some errors here and there but don't hold it against me, it was a stressful week. So, without further excuses, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, violence, suggested death

We All Wear Masks

Sunny was scared; not only did she feel like her heart was breaking but she had just been threatened by Bain Cynis. At this point there was only one thing she could do: do what Bain wanted her to do and hope that he didn't come after her if Rod decided to ignore her.

It was when the last bell had rung that she took the chance to approach Rod. She was extra vigilant when searching him out and found him quickly, seeing him walking out of Simpleton's classroom with Brianna Vargas. Her heart throbbed at the sight, her throat turning dry as she saw Rod flirt with the short-haired brunette. At that moment, she wanted to curl up and die. Just forget about passing on Bain's threat, she'd let him kill her as long as she didn't have to feel the pain any longer.

Yet she found herself approaching Rod and before she could stop herself, she was tapping him on the shoulder. She looked down as Rod's annoyed green eyes landed on her, eyes that no longer held any affection that she was used to seeing in them.

"What is it?" he demanded impatiently.

She closed her eyes, arms tightening around herself in some primal attempt to try and protect herself. Mustering whatever courage she had left, she managed to crack out, "I…I was told…to tell you something…"

Rod raised an eyebrow at her, as if he saw this as some pathetic attempt to get his attention. "Oh really? Spit it out."

"B-B-Bain Cynis told me to tell you to leave Charlotte alone," she finally managed to blurt out.

"Bain Cynis?" Rod asked, frowning at her. "Who the hell is that?"

"Hold on, you've been hanging around Charlie?" Brianna cut in, this time being the one to give Rod a skeptical look. Sunny watched in dismay as Rod's face softened as he looked towards Brianna curiously.

"Charlie? Oh, you mean that girl with the possessive boyfriend?" Rod asked. "So that guy's name is Bain, huh?

"Way to show you're new around here," Brianna deadpanned at him. "You're not even the least bit afraid."

"Why the hell should I be afraid of a dick that uses other people to deliver his threats?" Rod demanded. "He's a fucking pussy."

"Um, he told me that if you didn't stop, he would cut your penis off," Sunny said softly. Rod's head snapped around to look at her incredulously.

"He what?" he exclaimed.

"Ooh, he's going below the belt already," Brianna whistled.

"You know what, that's it," Rod stated, his eyes heating up. "I'm fucking tired of hearing about this asshole. Where is he? I'm going to fucking kick his ass."

"Rod, don't," Brianna commanded. "Listen to us who know. Just do as he says and stay away from Charlie. Bain won't fuck around and he's already killed someone. If he comes after you, it will be to kill."

"You really believe that, don't you?" Rod asked. "What the hell is he? Freddy Krueger?"

"Freddy Krueger's not real," Brianna said slowly as if speaking to a retarded kid, "Bain is. Don't push the issue, just leave Charlie alone."

To Sunny, it seemed like the two were in some kind of staring contest and it was Rod who looked away first, sighing loudly. "Fine," he grumbled. "I'll leave her alone. For now."

"No, no 'for now's," Brianna argued. "I like you Rod, you're a good friend, but I'm not going to risk my life just because you have some macho man issues or are insecure. I'm telling you one last time, just drop it."

At this point, Sunny left the two as she knew that the two had already forgotten about her and she didn't want to watch as Rod talked with somebody else like he used to with her.

So now she had done as she was told. She was going to go home now where she could be by herself and cry to her heart's content. Hopefully she wasn't late for the bus…

* * *

"Why did you drag me out here again?" Mari grumbled as she leant on the chain link fence that surrounded the track and practice fields. "I have better things to do than stick around here watching cheerleaders."

"Like what?" Roxi challenged. "Aren't you curious to what their reactions will be once they discover the pepper I snuck into their pompoms?"

"You just like to torture that Brittany girl," Mari grunted. "Is it because she likes Kenny?"

"Honestly, you think too little of me," Roxi replied. "Do you really think I would be jealous of Brittany fucking Love of all people? A girl that doesn't know when to shut the fuck up?"

"Yep!" Brandon Smith chirped beside them, slightly scaring the two since they hadn't been aware of his presence until now. Jeez, how come this guy didn't know that neither of them wanted him there? It was like he was oblivious to the fact that he put off many of the girls and yet he continued to bug them.

"He has a point," Mari pointed out as she placed the earbuds to her IPod in her ears. It was obvious that she was not in the mood to continue the conversation. "You would try to prank someone out of spite."

"Brittany's annoying!" Roxi defended. "She doesn't know when to stop talking; it's like she's the center of the universe or something."

"Only in your universe," Mari retorted.

"Hey, don't say that," Roxi whined.

"You still have me," Brandon said helpfully.

"Oh, that makes me feel so much better," Roxi grumbled under her breath.

"I can taste the sarcasm," Brandon said dryly.

"Oh really?" Roxi asked archly. "What does it taste like?"

"Salty with a hint of lemon," Brandon shrugged.

Roxi looked at Brandon weirdly before shaking her head. "I give up. I can't fucking talk with you and—hey, who's that?"

She had her eyes trained on the practice field where the football team was getting ready. There was someone there that wasn't dressed for practice and stuck out like a sore thumb.

"Hey, I think it's that new guy, Rod," Brandon said, leaning his weight further onto the fence. "He must want to tryout or something."

"Man, those guys are going to tear him apart and he's giving them the chance," Roxi whistled. "And after all we went through to save his ass that last time. Now he's putting himself in the lion's den!"

"Should be entertaining," Mari spoke up. After a moment she said, "Huh, I think Kenny's also a cheerleader."

* * *

Alright, it was the first practice of the school year and Stan was ready to show his stuff. This year, for sure, he was going to take the team to the championship. It happened countless times in Disney movies so the odds were in his favor.

And then his happy mood was killed when he saw Rod stroll onto the field, not even dressed for practice. His blood was boiling again but this time it was not because the asshole was trying to take his girlfriend away from him. It was because he was violating the sanctity of the practice field. Unless you were a manager or the coach, you only came out here with the proper padding and equipment.

He shot a look over to Token who then notified Clyde and Craig that something was up. Once Stan was sure he had some backup, he turned back to Rod and he sneered at the smugness of that asshole.

"Yo!" Rod called out. "Any positions open?"

Stan gritted his teeth; the guy wanted to join the team now, didn't he? Over his dead body!

"Ey! What's this prick doing here?" Cartman demanded as he came up behind Stan, his practice clothes baggy over his less obese frame. During past seasons, Cartman was a lineman. It was a spot that he could really put to use his fat that was helpful but now Stan was beginning to wonder if the once-fatass would be useful. Without his fat, would he still be effective as one of their best linemen?

Holding his hands up, Rod said, "I feel some hostility here. I just want to tryout, you know?"

Tryout for the team, huh? Stan was doubtful about that, especially as visions of Rod being a near perfect athlete flashed through his head, complete with Rod winning Wendy over and going being a toolshed for some porn star rated sex and leaving him, Stan, out in the cold. He was getting pissed off just thinking about it!

"Tryout, huh?" Token asked as he reached Stan's side. "Alright then, let's see what you can do."

Stan flashed a quick glare to Token who just ignored it. What the hell was Token thinking letting this prick tryout? He was purely against this, pure and simple.

That sounded a bit redundant, didn't it?

"Here, catch," Clyde called out as he threw the football at Rod. The blond looked up at it, blinking his eyes before smirking and holding his hands up to catch the ball. The oblong ball spinning as it descended, the boys watched as the ball reached Rod's hands, slip past them and nail the blond right in his forehead.

As the football flopped harmlessly on the ground, Rod stumbled back and clutched at his forehead, swearing up a storm that had Stan staring at him dumbly. What the hell had just happened? Clyde was barely twenty feet away; it was an easy catch and yet this guy couldn't catch it? They could all catch a football thrown from that distance since they were nine for crying out loud!

"What the hell was that!" Rod finished swearing, his eyes glaring at the boys.

"Dude, you were suppose to catch that," Stan said, pointing out the obvious.

"You must have thrown it wrong," Rod accused, continuing to glare at Clyde who looked peeved at the accusation.

"Whatever," Cartman interrupted before a blown out argument could occur, not that Stan wouldn't be against it. "Just pick up the ball and throw it over here ya pussy."

Despite the earlier scene of Rod fucking up a catch, Stan was a bit worried. What if this guy was an awesome thrower? His position as quarterback was in jeopardy!

Picking up the ball, Rod narrowed his eyes in concentration and Stan found that he was taking up a catching position, backing up a bit in case the ball went soaring overhead. It was unconscious on Stan's part and he was wondering what the hell he was doing. Then Rod threw the ball.

The ball twisted in the air, swirling as it launched from those hands, gliding as it zoomed towards him. It looked impressive, it looked beautiful, Stan was bracing his body for impact. It was moving fast, it…

It landed three feet away from Rod and flopped harmlessly on the ground before coming to a stop two feet away from the blond.

The boys stared at both Rod and the ball. What the hell was this? That…that had been…

"Holy shit! That was pathetic!" Cartman howled as he began laughing at the embarrassed Rod, pointing a beefy finger at the blond as he jeered at him.

Stan found himself starting to laugh along, the other guys joining in as Rod's face reddened in embarrassment, his fists clenching tightly. What the hell, and he had been worried there for a minute!

"Guys, guys," Token managed to calm them town as he struggled with his own chuckles. "Maybe pitching and receiving aren't his things."

"You got that right!" Cartman bellowed in laughter.

"As I was saying," Token continued, giving Cartman a peeved look, "why don't we have him try some other positions? Let's see you kick."

"Alright," Rod snarled. "Let's do this."

* * *

Stan had to wonder why he had been nervous in the first place. This guy sucked, plain and simple. They tried him as a kicker and Rod could barely get the ball into the air. They tried him as offensive and defensive linemen, putting him up against both Cartman and Craig and both of them had Rod on his ass in no time.

Now, Rod was a pretty big guy and had by now taken off his leather jacket showing off the muscles he had. But when he was thrown to the ground time and again, especially by Craig who had height but not the same musculature as Rod did, Stan knew that there was no way they were putting him on the team.

There was no way in Hell he was going to gamble their chances at the championship with this guy. He wasn't even Bad News Bears material!

And yes, to be more fair, they had tried him throwing the ball and catching it again but each catch and throw were even more pathetic than the first ones. They even had the coach come in but Rod's performance was so bad that the coach told the blond that maybe he could see about talking with their cheerleading coach.

In a huff that Cartman called gay, Rod snatched up his coat and stomped off. He was like a girl then and Stan found himself still chuckling over it even as they continued practice.

"Guys, I am so gonna blog about this," Cartman announced to them as they were going back into the locker room to change.

"Hey, I was going to blog about it," Craig frowned at Cartman.

"Well I call dibs!" Cartman argued back.

"Why can't we all blog about it?" Clyde asked curiously.

"Because then it won't be as funny!" Cartman snapped at Clyde. "Only one of us can blog about this and since I said it first, it's going to be me."

"Screw that," Craig replied. "I'm still going to blog about it."

"Fuck you Craig!" Cartman roared at the raven-haired teen. "I called dibs!"

Stan rolled his eyes at this and changed quickly, preferring to do his cleaning up in the privacy of his home instead of the school showers. Plus he liked the feel of sweat against his skin; made him feel very masculine.

As he exited the locker room, he found Kenny waiting for him with blue eyes that were red and puffy. Stan frowned at this, wondering if something was going on with his blond friend.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

"Someone put pepper in the girls' pompoms," Kenny explained. "It was everywhere man. My eyes still sting."

"That sucks," Stan shrugged. "Why don't you just join the football team?"

"First, as a cheerleader, I get to touch the girls as much as I want without them threatening to press charges," Kenny explained. "Second, I got killed in the third grade the last time I played football. Two Middle Park assholes held my by the arms while another tackled me. It fucking hurt, you know?"

"Sure, whatever," Stan rolled his eyes at that last one. Why did Kenny keep insisting that he died all the time? It was cute when they were kids but really man, they were almost adults! Kenny really needed to grow up, you know?

"Why don't you guys ever remember?" Kenny sighed.

Stan chose not to respond to that. Instead, he said, "You got anything going on?"

"Well, I managed to find a couple of numbers," Kenny said. "Gonna call a couple and see if they'd like to spend the night with lil' ol' me. If not, I got a backup who's good for getting a blowjob over at the TGI Friday's parking lot."

"Kenny, Cartman's told you a million times that a girl's mouth is the filthiest place in the world," Stan sighed. "You're going to catch something one of these days."

"Oh? And when has that ever stopped you from getting one?" Kenny challenged. "I got it straight from the source that Wendy used to go down on you all the time."

Stan blushed furiously and looked away, not wanting to admit that he too indulged in a good BJ every now and then. "Shut up! Wendy uses mouthwash so there's less germs!"

"You tell yourself that," Kenny teased. "All it does is leave your dick smelling minty-fresh."

As Kenny took the lead, Stan remained where he was standing forlornly. Then he said to himself, "But I like it when it smells minty-fresh…"

* * *

_Killimanjaro_.

Gary winced as the game system announced how many players that Kyra had slayed without being killed herself. He could tell without words being said that there was something on his friend's mind. Just by looking at Kyra, you wouldn't be able to tell that she was upset about something outside of the way she was gripping her game controller. Other than that, she just looked like someone too absorbed in her game.

To be honest, he was a bit leery about trying to broach the topic. She was wielding a virtual gun and even though it wasn't real, he still had the feeling that if provoked she would try to shoot him with it real or not.

He knew he shouldn't be afraid of Kyra, even if she claimed she beat God in a game of Wii golf, but her viciousness as she sniped two players at the same time was pretty intimidating.

A sticky grenade detonated on Kyra's avatar and she cursed, belting out so many swears that Gary flinched at them, wondering where she had gotten such language. She was always so nice and polite in public.

"Uh, Kyra?" he asked hesitantly. "Is everything okay?"

"No," Kyra gritted out as she went on a rampage, massacring any player that happened to get in her way.

Gary swallowed, tempted to just drop the subject then and there. However, he felt it was his duty to get to the bottom of this and try to help his friend through whatever it was that was making Kyra behave like this.

"Can you exit out the game?" he asked. "I need to ask you about something."

"Not now," Kyra growled at him as she snatched up a rocket launcher and began raining fiery doom on anyone who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

This was just sad, not for Kyra but for those who had the misfortune of playing with her. Pwnage was too weak a term to be used here, even with the big P. From her headset that had been discarded onto the carpet earlier, he could hear other players crying, literally, and one person suffer a nervous breakdown.

_"Mommy…make it stop…please make it—NOOOOOooooooo…not again…not again…"_

Fortunately, the game soon came to an end though not because time ran out but because everyone was exiting the game until Kyra was the only person left on the map.

"Cowards!" she roared at the television screen, forgetting that no one could hear her because she didn't have her headset on. "Come back and fight you fucking—"

Gary kinda tuned her out at this time, not wanting to expose his battered Mormon mind to whatever foul language she knew. Swiftly, he made a small prayer to God, hoping that either he or Joseph Smith (dum dum dum dum dum) would answer it or at least save him a spot up in heaven in case he didn't make it.

Creeping off his seat on the couch, he snuck over to Kyra's Xbox 360 and pressed the power button, holding it until the TV turned black. It took Kyra a few seconds to realized there wasn't a picture on the screen anymore and as quickly as she figured it out, her temper was gone, leaving behind a panting, soft spoken girl who looked like she went to church eagerly every week.

Okay, that was better, Gary thought to himself. He could work with this.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing you piece of—"

Okay, maybe not.

Steeling his nerves, he faced down the angry girl who was a good foot shorter than him but even then, from the look she was giving him, he felt as if he should fall to his knees and beg for mercy.

"Kyra, that's the fourth game all the other players have bailed out on you," he told her. "I can't help but think that there's something bothering you. I'm your friend, so c'mon, you can tell me anything."

Kyra narrowed her eyes at him, as if debating whether or not she should go for his jugular. Just in the off chance that she did, Gary readied an arm to cover that part of his neck at a moment's notice. Ultimately, that would be unneeded as Kyra seemed to collapse in on herself, her face expressing an adorable pout that reminded Gary of his younger sister.

He gave Kyra an indulging smile and took a seat beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to provide some comfort. "It's not good to keep it all bottled up inside," he told her. "Tell me what's wrong. Maybe there's something I can do to help."

That seemed to break through and Kyra lowered her head, her lip quivering as if she was trying to hold back a sob. "It hurts," she said. "Have you ever loved someone so much that you would do anything for them but they don't even know you exist?"

Ah, a breaking heart. While unable to fully cure this ailment, Gary did know how to soothe it. He had comforted his older sisters many a time when they had come home after a bad breakup.

"What happened?" he asked gently, not pressuring her.

"Stan has a new girlfriend," Kyra sniffed. "I saw him…go right up to her and ask her out. I was standing right there and he didn't even…notice me."

Ah yes, Stan, he should have known. It looked like the guy had yet to grow up any. Plus he had overheard Stan telling one of his friends that he was just using his latest girlfriend to make his ex jealous. The guy really had some serious growing up to do. But what was it that Kyra saw in him that made her like him in the first place? Kyra was a good person, both inside and out, and she didn't deserve some of the crap she had been through.

"I don't think it will last," he told her, "and even if I'm right, I don't want you to get your hopes up about him. Stan's really oblivious to a lot of things, from what I've noticed, and despite claiming to be tolerant, there are times he can just be a bigoted douche. But, if you think he doesn't notice you, then why don't you do something to get him to notice you?"

"What?" Kyra asked, blinking tears out of her eyes and staring at him as if he had said something completely foreign.

"You've told me that you've like Stan," Gary told her ruefully, "but you also complain that he doesn't know you exist. I figure, why not talk with him? Try to become a friend of his? So if this new relationship of his doesn't last, he'll be able to confide in you. You love him, don't you?"

"Y-yes," Kyra stuttered though she was giving the Mormon her undivided attention, soaking up every word that he spoke to her.

"Make him notice you," he told her. "If he doesn't know you exist, then either he's blind or you've been so quiet that he hasn't noticed you before. I mean, come on, you left your best friends so that you could help a guy with amnesia out. I think you're capable of a lot of things."

"You think so?" Kyra asked hopefully. It made Gary want to say that everything would work out for her yet at the same time, he didn't want to raise her hopes up too high. If everything blew up in her face, he didn't know how she would be able to get through it.

"It beats killing him all the time in Halo," he shrugged. "You know what, maybe you should give him an invite to join a team or something? That could be a start."

"Okay," Kyra sniffed, smiling brightly at him. "You're such a great friend Gary." With that, she embraced him tightly, hugging him with all that she was worth.

Gary reciprocated but he was still a little bit uneasy about it. Kyra had jumped onto this too quickly; if things went wrong, he didn't know if she would be able to handle it. Well, he'd make something happen, he told himself. Even if Kyra and Stan ended up as friends, he would not let her suffer.

She was a sensitive soul after all.

* * *

Charlie didn't like going to Bain's house. Sure on the outside it looked like every other house in South Park and the inside could have been any other home as well. No, there was just a different feel to this place out of all the places in town. It wasn't cold but it wasn't very lively at the same time, a reflection, she supposed, that mirrored that of the youngest Cynis.

Still, she was determined to find out what Bain was up to as he had been suspiciously quiet since last week. That was never a good thing as when something big did happen, Bain was usually behind it and it typically resulted in a lot of people getting hurt or dying.

As she approached the house, she noted the absence of cars there outside of one that was covered with a tarp. The lights were on inside, though, so that meant someone at least was home and she had a good feeling as to who. The front door was locked but that wasn't really an obstacle for her. She had learned how to pick locks a long time ago and while she wasn't great at it, a simple door lock stood no chance against her.

Once inside, that cool feeling that she disliked so much surrounded her and she stifled a shudder that threatened to creep up her spine. She had only felt this way once and that was at a morgue. There was no warmness or homeliness to be found in this place.

She paused a second to scan the living room, trying to make sure that Bain's father wasn't here. Despite being a very large man, he could sneak up on you, even if you were a trained assassin, and stand beside you for a good ten minutes before you were even aware he was there. He had snuck up on her so many times that she got paranoid every time she came here.

It didn't look like Bain's father was around so she could relax only a little bit. Just because you couldn't see the man didn't mean he wasn't there. What was his job again? A book editor? Yeah, Bain had mentioned once that his father edited her mother's books.

Now, where was Bain? He definitely had to be here. She didn't know why she knew it, she just had a feeling that he was here but he wasn't upstairs, that much she knew. As she passed by the stairs, she could see that the upper floor was dark, a sign that no one was up there or that Bain's mother wasn't here. His mother, that fucking MILF, had this tendency to turn on all the lights in the house, even if she wasn't using every single room.

So what did that leave? Well, there was the kitchen, a bathroom, a den, an office…and the basement. Instinctively, she knew that was where Bain was. If he wasn't up in his room plotting, he was in the basement doing something illegal.

She rolled her eyes at that last thought but nonetheless stomped her way over to the basement entrance where she resisted the urge to kick it open. She wasn't suicidal anymore, thank you very much. Instead, what she did was open it and shout down the stairs, "Hey bastard! You down there?"

She only had to wait a few seconds before she heard the sound of steps moving towards the bottom of the stairs. Curiously, she wonder what that strange squeaking sound that accompanied the steps was. Eventually, Bain's small figured appeared at the bottom of the stairs.

He was looking up at her though she couldn't tell if he was annoyed or not and he was wearing this clear covering that had a large splatter of red on it. She wasn't naïve enough to think that it was paint but she couldn't rule it out either.

"Why Charlotte, how nice of you to drop by," Bain said sarcastically up to her. "I'm a little tied up at the moment. I'll be finished in a few minutes so why don't you wait upstairs a bit?"

Amiable of him but the fact he was speaking so "kindly" was enough to tell her that he had something down there with him. "Eh, I'll just wait with you," she said carelessly, seeing if he was going to put up any resistance to that.

"Suit yourself," Bain said dryly as he turned his back on her and moved deeper into the basement.

Shrugging to herself, Charlie took the steps down, closing the door behind her as an afterthought. She didn't know why she did it but she didn't really care that she did anyway.

Stepping off the stairs, she found the basement had been changed a bit. All the furniture that was placed down here was moved towards the walls and a good amount of the floor was covered in plastic. That would answer that strange noise she heard earlier.

In the middle of it was a chair that had a man restrained to it. She took in the blood stained blond hair and prominent nose, as well as the sky blue jacket, ripped yellow turtleneck, and torn white slacks. Hmm, Bain had definitely been working on this one for quite some time. There were so many cuts, slashes, bruises on the man who couldn't even scream because of the ball gag that had been crammed into his mouth. As soon as the man had saw her, he began groaning and grunting around the gag, trying to get her attention and possibly win her sympathy.

"Ah, Charlotte, so you decided to join us," Bain commented. "Allow me to introduce you to Mr. Charles Kincade, a band manager from the Kincade Talent Agency. He's most notable from his managing of various Guitar Hero bands, though he fucked up on the Marsh/Broflovski duo some years ago."

"Oh? What did he do to piss you off?" Charlie asked him, ignoring Kincade's muffled pleas for help.

"Nothing really," Bain said idly. "I'm more interested in what he represents than who he is." He lazily whacked the back of Kincade's head and leaned against the guy with his arms crossed.

"Whatever, mind if I watch?" Charlie asked. There was a muffled squeak of protest from Kincade.

"Do as you like," Bain said flippantly. "You know the deal, don't mention of word of what you saw here, etcetera."

"Yeah, yeah, I know the drill," she rolled her eyes again as she took a seat at the bottom of the stairs. "So why exactly is it you kidnapped a band manager this time, huh?"

Bain's face darkened and he glared malevolently at Kincade. "It's because of people like this that some of the best bands ever known break up. They twist things so that it's not about the music, just the money. They encourage egos so that a band is more susceptible to breaking up and then they swoop in and introduce some nobody who they claim the band would be better with!"

Oh, there he went again, going on another tirade. Best to stop him now before he went off on a tangent or something.

"So which band of yours broke up?" she asked. "Was it Bullet for my Valentine?"

Bain snarled and stabbed Winslow into Kincade's upper thigh, Kincade crying out in pain. "Worse," he growled. "It's because of people like him that great bands such as Savage Garden break up!" He yanked Winslow out of Kincade only to stab the blade into Kincade's other leg.

Charlie raised an eyebrow at Bain. "Savage Garden? You have got to be fucking kidding me."

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Bain snarled at her, twisting Winslow while the knife was still in Kincade's leg.

Kincade was moaning in agony but neither of the two teens deigned to pay any attention to him.

Changing the topic, Charlie glanced at Kincade who was quite pale at this point. "So what are you going to do with this one? Dump him in the woods or retry remaking that scene from _The Hitcher_?"

"I was thinking of pulling an Elizabeth Short," Bain shrugged.

"Who?" Charlie blinked at the psychopath, wondering who the hell he was talking about. Even Kincade was giving Bain a weird look.

"Oh, right, you probably know her better as the Black Dahlia," Bain elaborated. "You know, give him a Glasgow smile, drain him of his blood, and last but not least sever him in half. Even in today's standards, it remains gruesome. I was also thinking of placing the body near the arcade or the headquarters of the Kincade Talent Agency. I haven't figured out which to do yet."

"Well, the farther you go, the less likely they'll pin it on you," Charlie groused.

"Maybe it is a bit too elaborate," Bain mused. "What the hell, might as well use the axe while I still can." He headed towards a corner of the basement where Charlie watched him dispassionately pull out what suspiciously looked to be a fire axe, one that you would normally find at a school.

She rolled her eyes and told him, "I'll be upstairs. Try not to get too messy."

"Do as you will," Bain said dismissively as he stalked towards Kincade. "Daddy's busy."

As she reached the top of the stairs, she groaned to herself that the psycho would actually say something like that. As the shadow of an axe rose against a wall, the door closed just as it began to fall.

* * *

It was some time later and Charlie found herself bored. Here she was, laying on Bain's bed with both of her hands behind her head, staring up at the ceiling. What was taking Bain so long anyway? This wasn't the first time she had walked in on him torturing someone but he usually was done with them quickly once he learned that she was here.

Either Kincade was more entertaining than her or he had forgot about her.

Now this was the thing about being in the Cynis home, in particular Bain's room. It was plain and empty; it was as if the place was set up like one of those rooms you'd see in a magazine with the exception of the rosiness. Bain's room was like a hospital room in its plainness and the only things decorating it was the furniture. There were no posters, no pictures, nothing.

On a shelf, there were plenty of books but Charlie was no way inclined to read or skim through them. There were all true crime novels or some really creepy stuff like _The Exorcist_ and _The Silence of the Lambs_. She had been in her own crime novel and she would be the first to tell you that you did not want to find yourself in one.

So what did that leave her to do other than lay on Bain's professionally made bed? Well, now that she was taking a good look, she noticed the laptop Bain had on a large desk was opened and on, a screensaver animating a warping object that changed from a cube to a ball and back. This was a unique opportunity; it was rare that she ever saw that laptop on without Bain being near it.

Let's see what kind of stuff that maniac had on it.

Getting up from the bed, she felt a bit mischievous as she pressed a finger against the mousepad, the screensaver shutting off and revealing an iTunes list. Music, huh? What all did he listen to? Taking in the list, she noticed immediately that Bain had it set on a playlist…one that was nothing but Savage Garden. Even though she teased him about it in the basement, she had not real recollection of what they sounded like. Were they a heavy metal band or were they a whiny emo band?

Only one way to find out.

Clicking on the song titled _Truly Madly Deeply, she_ double clicked it, turning up the sound on the computer as she did so.

_I want to stand with you on a mountain_

_I want to bathe with you in the sea_

_I want to lay like this forever_

_Until the sky falls down on me_

She blinked incredulously. This…_this_ was Savage Garden? This was what Bain was upset about down there? This was soft rock! Hell, it was softer than soft rock! She had known that there were things Bain didn't tell her but this was not one of those things she had expected.

Before she knew it, there was a familiar blade pressing against her throat lazily, a warm body pressing itself against her back as an arm extended from behind her and clicked on the laptop, shutting the music off.

"Snooping, hm?" Bain purred into her ear though it was a bit awkward. He was shorter than her by a few good inches.

Charlie grabbed his wrist, being careful so as not to cause the blade in his hand to cut into her skin, and pulled it away. Recognizing Winslow instantly, she turned around in the small amount of space Bain had left her with so that she could face him.

"I never took you as someone who liked that kind of shit," she told him bluntly. "I mean, I still can't figure out where you keep those roses of yours or where the hell you keep that knife of yours on you but really, for someone who is suppose to be a hardass, this is just—"

"What?" Bain asked challengingly. "We all have our hidden tastes. Eric Cartman has a fascination with Brittany Spears, Token Black goes for a nice Sade when no one's looking, and the Frenchie is crushing on Cher. If those examples aren't pathetic, then please, tell me what is."

"You don't have to get so defensive," she told him as she released his wrist and pushed him away so that she could take a seat on his bed.

Bain grunted as he placed Winslow on his desk, shutting his laptop so that she wouldn't get any smart ideas about it. Damn it, he knew how much she sucked with computers. She had problems just opening Microsoft Word and that was when the computer was already logged on for her and everything. There was no way she could go face to face with a simple start-up password, especially one picked out by his twisted mind.

"I just chopped a man in half," Bain said. "I'm not in the mood for the usual banter, Charlotte."

"Stressed?" she asked, keeping the concern she had hidden.

"Depends on your definition," Bain shrugged as he took a seat beside her.

"Is the new guy getting on your nerves that bad?" she asked. Not waiting for him to answer, she continued, "The guy's a creep and a player. He playing with so many girls that one of these days, it's going to blow up in his face and then he'll be treated like a leper."

"He rubs me the wrong way," Bain said unexpectedly. "There's something about him…I can't put my finger on it."

"You'll figure it out," she told him. "You always do."

"Is that confidence I hear?" Bain asked. Before she knew it, Bain was pushing her back on his bed and laying atop her. It wasn't as if she was being placed in a compromising position. She could have gotten out from under Bain with both hands tied behind her back and blindfolded but she didn't bother as Bain's head rested on her chest. "Don't tell me you're getting sentimental with me, Charlotte."

"I just know how you work," she said honestly. "You either threaten the information you want out of people or stalk the person in question until you know everything about them from what time they get up in the morning to how long they take a piss." With one hand, she combed her fingers into the thick mass of brown hair on Bain's head. The longer her fingers rested on his scalp, the more relaxed he became. It was at times like these that he reminded her of a cat.

A cat, though, was nicer and kinder and didn't threaten to disembowel you if you made a wrong move.

"You think you know it all, don't you?" Bain challenged.

"If the shoe fits," she jested back.

"And you say I'm the one full of myself," Bain replied. "It seems to me that someone else might need to be taken down a notch."

"I hope you are referring to the new guy," she retorted. "I can feel the arrogance dripping off him."

"Maybe, maybe not," Bain said as he snuggled his head against her chest. "Personally, I believe we need more males around here. Too many females of significance cropping up."

"You would say that," she sighed though the corners of her mouth curled upwards.

"But not everything is what it seems," Bain said unexpectedly. Charlie blinked at that; there had been no build up and no cause for him to say something like that out of the blue. It was times like these that he confused her with whatever twisted logic that he used. "We all expect people to act one way but when we aren't looking, a person can be something differently entirely."

"What do you mean by that?" she asked warily.

"For example, you're a tough tomboy that doesn't know when to back down from a challenge," Bain smirked. "Behind closed doors, you're a scared little girl with a lot of daddy issues."

"Just like how everyone thinks you're a crazy ass psychopath when really you're a guy with a big ego and needs to get knocked off his high horse and is a closet romantic?" she shot back

"I wouldn't say romance is in my closet," Bain replied smoothly, "not to say there aren't things in my 'closet' so to speak. I am, after all the shadows on the wall and the monsters they become."

"Now you're quoting someone," she said dryly. "Really, you just want people to think you're some evil incarnate. You're just a little boy lashing out because mommy and daddy didn't pay any attention to you."

"Who knows?" Bain shrugged, obviously ignoring what she had just said. She had felt him tense up once it had come out of her mouth and she thought that she had just crossed a line there. For all that he showed a front that he could care less about what people thought or said about him, Bain really was a sensitive boy. "It's a good lyric from Voltaire anyway. Nevertheless, I want you to stay away from Mr. Woods. He's hiding something, I can feel it."

"Whatever you say," she rolled her eyes. "I still say you're a possessive bastard."

Bain raised his head up from her chest, staring at her with a crooked smirk. "Then allow me to show you just how 'possessive' I am, hmm?"

Before she could get another word in, he was smashing his lips onto hers and her senses were invaded with the taste of vanilla and spices.

She was beginning to think she was a sucker for punishment at this point.

* * *

The crash on the other side of the house didn't even faze Sawyer as he reclined on his bed, engaging in a one way conversation with his pet turtle. The reptile in question seemed to only stare back at the skinny teen without actually seeing him. Sawyer was not put out about this because, really, who was he to know what went on in a turtle's head?

"Sounds like someone's out of booze," he commented to the turtle. "How much you wanna bet it's my fault? I'm not even legal and it's expected of me to keep the liquor cabinet filled? Fucking lame, man."

The turtle had no reply, not that he ever did. That's what Sawyer liked about him; he listened and didn't have much to say.

"Dad's gotta be home too," he mused. "I thought I heard his piece of shit in the driveway. Let's see how long it takes for them to get tired of blaming one another and come after me, just like they always do."

In a loose sense, it could be said that Sawyer lived in a broken home. At first, his parents were those strict 50s type that you saw on TV; everything had to be their way or the highway even though his mother drank maybe a glass too many and his father liked staying out late. However, after leaving Chicago for South Park, things had spiraled dramatically.

He didn't know all the details but from what he was able to gather, his father had come up with a get-rich-quick scheme and it had blown up in his face. They had almost lost everything and in order to make ends meet, they had to move into an even smaller house in this town. He was lucky he managed to have a room all to himself but he didn't know how long that luck would hold out. His father was a gambling addict and most of the money he made went to feed that habit.

As you can tell, his father usually came home empty handed, cursing that the Native Americans had rigged the roulette wheel and craps tables. Ultimately, if he was close to his father, the man would turn on him and blame him for his unlucky streak. Of course, his father didn't pay attention to his mother, the other source of leaking income. She was alcoholic and every cent she got her hands on went to get more booze. She could easily down a couple bottles of wine in a day; it made him hug himself at the thought of the state of her liver.

But he knew, things were never their fault. It was his. It wasn't their fault that his father didn't want to work for a living and his mother wanted to escape the world so badly (and the immanent hangover that would occur if she stopped) that she searched for it at the bottom of a bottle. Nope, it was all his fault doing nothing but letting them self-destruct in their own way.

When he was younger, he had had dreams of going to college and getting away from this place. The older he got, the less he had those dreams and now he was at the point that he thought he would be stuck in this household for the rest of his life.

So, to try and at least make his bleak life enjoyable, he did whatever came to mind, a kind of seize the day mentality. Sure he got into a bunch of trouble and pissed his parents off more but really, what did they expect? He was not going to live a deadening existence, thank you very much, and he would be damned if he had to take care of those overgrown children for the rest of his life.

But what choice did he ultimately have? It was one thing to expect being trapped in South Park, it was another to have no hope in at least improving his living conditions.

He had explained the matter to Killer many a time and had given up on hoping to receive an answer.

Killer the turtle, as stated before, wasn't much of a talker.

There was a loud slam and Sawyer wondered if they now had another hole in the wall. Didn't either of those geniuses figure out that holes in the wall cost money to fix?

No, best not to think about it. Let's talk about something more enjoyable.

"Hey Killer," he said, "what would you say if I told you I made another friend at school?" When he didn't receive an answer, he continued, "Now don't be that way. You'll always be my best friend, you know? Nothing will ever take that away from you. But this guy, he's huge, you know? Yeah, he's that guy I think I told you about, you know, that French guy who smokes a lot? His name's Christophe and he's pretty fun to talk with.

"I mean, I've probably said hi to him a million times but just now, out of the blue, he talked back! I know you would like him if you met him. I've heard that he's some kind of mercenary and while he knows how to tell a good story, I'm still not sure about it. He might be a bit unhinged since he hangs out with that Charlie gal and you know about the psycho who stalks her. Well, he's got some muscle so he should be just fine dealing with him.

"Oh, and did I tell you about that new kid? Practically all the girls are swooning over him but I gotta admit that he does look pretty hot…what the fuck did I just say?" he exclaimed sitting up, eyes wide. Looking at Killer in apprehension as if the turtle was judging him, he said quickly, "He's good looking but honest, I'm not interested him. Like at all! Don't look at me like that! I'm into the gals! Nice big racks! Sweet firm asses! A nice bulge and why the hell am I sounding like a homo? I'm not gay! Seriously! Don't fucking look at me like that!"

Killer said nothing and continued to stare at Sawyer, not even blinking while the teen pouted. "Like you've gotten any action. You're more celibate than a Catholic priest. Honestly, when was the last time you got any? Yeah, that's what I thought."

He paused and looked away from Killer, focusing on the end of his bed. He leaned back on his arms and sighed, biting his lower lip as various thoughts ran through his head.

"Do you think Christophe likes me?" he finally asked. "As a friend, not in that way. I like him, like a friend, but what do you think? Hey, I know that look, don't give me it! Alright fine, just because you caught me watching a gay porno does not make me gay! I was waiting for the girls to come, honest! But they never came, damn it. They never came! I mean the guys came but the girls! …I'm not making a good argument here, am I?"

Killer was silent as usual except this time he turned his head a fraction of an inch to the right.

"Screw you man!" Sawyer snapped. He glared at the turtle for a moment before his scowl grew sheepish. "Aw, you know I can't stay mad at you. That's what I like about you, Killer. You don't judge. It must be great being a turtle. No cares in the world and no one blames you for anything.

"Oh what? Expecting me to make some random wish that I was a turtle? You forget, man, this is fucking South Park. It would fucking come true and there will be all this crazy shit happening and someone's going to learn something today which will only last for less than a minute and bam! We're back where we started. No way, I ain't going to go through that shit. Again. Anyway, what do you think about Christophe? Should I ask him if he wants to hang out sometime or what?"

Once again, Killer said nothing but then, it wasn't like Sawyer was expecting him to say anything.

* * *

Further Disclaimer: I do not own _Truly Madly Deeply_ by Savage Garden or the lyrics from _When You're Evil_ by Voltaire.


	9. Gift Giving

Author's Note: Nothing much about this chapter so enjoy the Chain.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Gift Giving

So what if it looked like he had been on the wrong end of a can of mace? Kenny knew he still had it as Brittany Love blushed like a sweet little virgin in front of him. Her number had been the first one he had picked and what would you know, Brittany had picked up. Now he was at her front doorstep, intending to take her on a night out on the town.

"But we have school tomorrow," Brittany protested though Kenny could tell it wouldn't take much for him to convince her otherwise. He could see it in her eyes, she so wanted to go out with him but she was busy playing the good girl, most likely because her parents were probably eavesdropping from the other side of the wall.

He had a sixth sense for these things and he knew he had to give this a G performance, PG at the most. PG-13 was really cutting it close and R was right out. He really had a lot of restraint, he did. If he had to take this one to a Jonas Brothers concert in order for her to get all tingly down there, then so be it.

Just as long as those cockblocking sons of bitches didn't try to proselytize again.

"C'mon!" he said playfully to her. "It'll be fun. Just a movie, maybe a quick bite to eat and back home again. I've had my eye on you for a bit and I want to get to know you better. What better way to do that than going out on a friendly date?"

"But on a school night?" Brittany protested, her eyes darting to the wall beside her where her aunt was listening in on them, an empty glass held up to her ear. As much as Brittany wanted to say yes, she knew that her aunt was a bit of a stickler about her getting a good education. If she played her cards right though…

"Why not?" he asked challengingly, giving her a shit-eating grin. "It's the first week of school! They're practically babysitting us! Tell you what, I buy you an ice cream after the movie."

Why was she being so stubborn, he wondered to himself. He could see the conflict in her eyes but really, did she need approval to take a piss or something? He was getting blueballs waiting out here like this!

"How about tomorrow night?" Brittany asked, fluttering her eyelashes at him cutely. "My aunt is a bit strict about school nights but other than that, she's cool. We'll be able to stay up late, maybe look at the stars?"

Okay, that was a thing he would have to add to the itinerary but he could go through it. Really, he could!

"You know what? Because it's you," he made a clicking noise with his tongue, holding up one of his hands and shaping a makeshift gun with it. "I'll pick you and those lovely eyes of yours up tomorrow, say sixish? Seven?"

"Six's fine," she told him warmly. "Oh Kenny, you're making me so happy!"

"Of course!" he said triumphantly. "I make anybody happy but for you, I want to take it a level beyond. I want to make you feel fantastic. So six tomorrow? I'll pick you up here, 'kay?"

"Perfect," she told him, standing up on her tippy toes and kissing his forehead lightly.

As she closed the door, Kenny smiled goofily for a moment before wiping it off and walking away from the house, pulling out a piece of paper from his orange parka. On it was a list of names and phone numbers, a few of the names crossed out (their numbers left alone because he did not want to mess up that vital bit of information) and put a check next to Brittany's name. Yes she had been the first number he had called but she was not the first person he had visited thus far.

Alright, who was next? He scanned down the list, spying out names like Heidi, Roxi, and Bonnie. He had yet to call one of those names and at the bottom was his emergency ration. That one he would take to the TGI Friday's parking lot for a sweet, sweet BJ but only if none of the first three agreed to go out with him tonight.

Hey, he was serious about defending his title of top perv. He wasn't a Casanova for nothing, you know.

Selecting a number at random, he headed towards the nearest payphone, fingering the loose change he had in his pocket. He hoped he had enough for at least four calls.

* * *

Kyle concentrated on every thud the basketball made each time it hit the ground. He dribbled the ball slowly for a moment before taking it up in both hands and shooting a freethrow at the basket high above his head. He was not surprised that he made it; he was one of the best basketball players in town. And that's what it would only be; football would be the only sport the school supported because no one wanted to be on a baseball team because of how lame and boring the sport was and the school wouldn't shell out the necessary cash for the proper equipment for a real basketball team.

Why else would he go all the way to Denver to try out for a team?

No one else was interested in the game outside of a friendly game every once in a while when they had nothing else better to do. It was football season now so everyone else's attention would be focused on that. He could have played if he wanted but he grew disillusioned with that sport a long time ago. He didn't particularly like being chased after and tackled by guys who were bigger and heavier than him. That and he didn't desire to suffer any of the problems that were common among professional football players.

For example: tiny balls. There really wasn't much more to it than that.

He liked to come out to this basketball court because something about dribbling a large ball and tossing it at a basket eight feet up in the air was somehow relaxing for him. Too much stress studying for a test? Shoot some hoops. Pissed off your friends ditched you for a date? Shoot some hoops. Trying to delay the inevitable assfucking at the hands of a demonic asshole that was waiting for him at home? …bury your head under a mountain of snow, beat the shit out of Cartman if he happened to be nearby and in your face, then go shoot some hoops.

It wasn't that the assfucking was unpleasant; there were times well…yeah…but that was only when Damien was feeling exceptionally considerate. There were times when Kyle didn't know which way was up or whether that was a finger or some kind of demonic tentacle trying to sneak some action between his asscheeks.

That may have been too much information.

With the ball back in hand, he slowly dribbled it, his eyes moving up and down with the orange orb as if the inanimate object held the very answer to the meaning of his life. Was he the butt of some kind of cosmic joke? Because sometimes, it felt like the whole world was out to make him miserable.

Clutching the ball with both hands, he made another freethrow and retrieved the ball when it bounced away from him. Back onto the court and he was dribbling slowly again, a crease in his brow as he continued to think.

It was all so stressful, you know? It was their senior year and it was expected of not only him but his entire class to get into some kind of wacky shit like in one of those stupid coming of age comedies. None of them covered any of the stuff that occurred in South Park so he had no reference of what he could do about being the Antichrist's bitch. There was plenty of stuff on what Stan was going through but then there always was for him. It was always him, Kyle, who ended up in the one situation that no one had ever imagined.

It fucking sucked.

Feeling pent up aggression bubbling inside of him, he took the ball and launched it at the basket, cursing when it bounced off the backboard and passed overhead. Damn it, he had put too much force into that throw and now he was going to have to chase after the fucking thing. Goddamn it all.

However, it turned out that it might not be necessary. Someone else had caught the ball and Kyle found himself trying to place where he had seen that large blond kid. A second later, he recognized the guy as being the Mormon kid and he frowned slightly, wondering what the hell this Mormon pussy wanted with him.

Apparently unfazed by his frown, Gary smiled perkily at him and tossed the basketball back to him, walking casually as if he did this sort of thing all the time.

"You look like you have a lot on your mind," Gary said. "Got a problem?"

"Why would you care?" Kyle demanded, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "We don't hang out."

"Just because we don't doesn't mean I can't talk with you," Gary shrugged. "I just left a friend's house and she was going through a problem of her own. I guess you could say that I'm attracted to wanting to help people."

"Dude, that sounds so gay," Kyle deadpanned, bouncing the ball on the court once.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Gary asked challengingly. "Can I not be concerned if I see someone looking like there's something troubling them? If you don't want to talk, that's fine but maybe you'd like it better if we do a little one on one?"

Kyle's eyebrows rose as he considered the other. "You want to play me?" he asked skeptically.

"There's still light out," Gary pointed out, gesturing towards the sun that had yet to meet with the horizon, "and it's got to be awfully boring playing with yourself. Besides, it's more fun if you play against someone else."

Kyle stared contemplatively at the Mormon, biting his lower lip in thought before he nodded to himself and launched the ball straight at Gary. "Alright, let's see what you got. I have to warn you, I'm the best in town."

"Let's do this," Gary responded back competitively.

Unnoticed, the sun began drifting closer and closer towards the earth and by the time the two boys had come to a stop, both sweaty and panting, a quarter of the fiery ball had been consumed by the horizon.

Wiping the sweat off his forehead, Kyle gave Gary a shit-eating grin. "You're not bad. Not great but not bad either."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Gary answered back, smiling somehow as he continued to pant. "You're so fast, you know?"

"Have to be. I don't have the height…so I gotta keep the ball away," Kyle answered, pausing as he concentrated on his breathing.

"And you still kicked my ass," Gary continued. "I lost count after ten; how many times did you score on me?"

"Lost count too," Kyle replied. "I do remember that you got three."

"Beginner's luck, I think," Gary said.

"Aw, don't sell yourself short," Kyle said. "You were good at defense…somewhat."

"Didn't matter did it?" Gary retorted. "I got girth but you kept getting around me. I think you almost did a slam dunk back there."

"Yeah right," Kyle rolled his eyes. "Now I know you're laying it on thick."

"Maybe," Gary agreed, "but are you loose enough that you think you could tell me what's on your mind?"

"Oh, real subtle there," Kyle stated.

"I try," Gary quipped.

"I guess I could talk about it," Kyle mused. "Things have been changing, radically, lately and it's kinda making my head spin."

"Go on," Gary encouraged.

"I…I have a boyfriend," Kyle said quietly, his cheeks reddening.

"Oh, yeah, Damien, what about him?" Gary asked.

Kyle's head snapped up and he gaped at the Mormon. "What?" his voice cracked.

Gary blinked at him before his eyes widened in realization. "Oh, I thought…well, I already knew about your relationship. I think everybody at school knows about it."

"Oh fuck," Kyle moaned into his hands as he pressed them into his face. "Fuck! Fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

"Eh…sorry?" Gary hazarded, shifting awkwardly.

"Great, this is fucking great!" Kyle groaned to himself. "Now everyone thinks I'm a queer! God fucking damn it!" His head perking up as if something had occurred to him, he narrowed his eyes as he asked, "How did you find out?"

"I…heard it from Eric Cartman," Gary said quietly, looking away from the Jew ashamed.

"Goddamn fucking fatass!" Kyle bellowed as he surged up to his full height…which wasn't as impressive as Gary but hey, it was the principle of it!

"I'm sorry Kyle," Gary apologized again. "I just thought that you knew everyone knew."

"Fuck," Kyle cursed to himself, grabbing tuffs of his hair with his hands, his green ushanka knocked off his head. Letting go of the helpless curls, he sighed as he slumped, seemingly shrinking into himself. "This…this is just fucking perfect, isn't it?"

"Why don't you start at the beginning?" Gary suggested. "Take as long as you need; I"ll listen."

"Thanks dude but another time," Kyle sighed, sounding drained. "…unless you know how to deal with a horny Antichrist…?" he asked hopefully, peeking over at the Mormon.

"Sorry," Gary repeated, looking away.

"It's alright," Kyle sighed again. "Just…do you think you could…you know…meet me back here tomorrow for some hoops?"

"Sure!" Gary said. "Whatever you need Kyle. Hey, how about—"

"If it's about having dinner at your place, no thank you," Kyle interrupted.

Gary pouted at that but said nothing about it.

"I'll see you around dude," he told the Mormon as he picked up the discarded basketball. "It was…fun."

"You know how to find me," Gary said cheerfully.

Kyle gave him a crooked smile before he left the court, the basketball tucked under an arm. He felt kinda drained, but in a good way. He hadn't run around so hard in quite some time. He smirked to himself as he tightened his arm around the large ball. Maybe after a few more games, that Mormon kid could be decent.

As he turned onto the street where his house was, he found that he had lost all control over his body as something dark enveloped him, freezing him in his tracks.

"Who was that, Kyle?" Damien's high pitched voice demanded. He felt a finger topped with a long, sharp fingernail stroke against his cheek both gently but at the same time warningly as if daring him to come up with a lie.

Kyle swallowed, anxiety welling up in his gut. "It was a kid from school. I think his name's Gary. We just had a friendly game is all. Nothing to be upset about."

"He's a Mormon, _Kyle_," Damien hissed gently into his ear. "I'm not powerful enough to go after one of those, my pet. I can smell the purity and holiness of him all over you. I don't like it."

"Don't get so worked up about it," Kyle tried to say chidingly but only sounding more like a man being led to the electric chair. "We're just acquaintances. Nothing more."

"You were talking about me to him," Damien stated. "Are you trying to find some way to get away from me? It hurts me Kyle, it does."

"You're just a little overbearing," Kyle said, wincing to himself for even daring to speak that out loud. "I sometimes feel smothered…"

"And you couldn't tell me this why?" Damien asked, moving around him to face him, those red eyes of his glowing eerily.

"You scare me sometimes," Kyle admitted, wanting to look anywhere but at Damien but he was too mesmerized by those hypnotic eyes…

"Was that so hard to say?" Damien said as he nuzzled his head, cheek to cheek.

"A bit," Kyle said softly.

"You still don't trust me, do you?" Damien sighed mournfully into his ear.

"You are the Antichrist," Kyle pointed out, "what's to say you won't do something awful to me if I piss you off?"

"I shouldn't be surprised," Damien murmured. "Mortals are afraid of what they don't understand." The Antichrist's clawed hands began petting through the Jew's red curls, stroking as if he was a pet. "Mmm, what happened to your hat?"

Kyle's eyes widened in the realization that he was exposing his Jewfro out in public without covering it. His eyes darted around, searching for some kind of cover for it and praying that Cartman wouldn't see him in this compromising position.

"Relax," Damien soothed as he ran his hand along his head, an unfamiliar weight settling on it and compressing the fro. "Let me take care of you, my little daywalker. I always take care of my possessions."

"Is that what I am to you?" he asked quietly.

Damien grinned against his skin, purring. "Do you want to be something else?"

Kyle gave no answer to that. Whether or not he had an answer to give, even he didn't know.

"Let's go home, hmm?" Damien said as his control over the Jew lessened, enabling him to walk. "I have a surprise for you, one that I've been dying to give you for quite a while."

"What is it?" Kyle gulped. "More tentacles?"

"Oh, it's nothing much," Damien said, "just my pet poodle. I don't want anyone unseemly trying to break into your house so I figured a four-legged guardian ought to help."

"You got me a pet?" Kyle asked, slightly touched by the gesture. For the moment, he wanted to ignore the thoughts of his mom banning any animals from being on their property.

Damien only grinned wickedly. "I did and I know you're just going to _love_ Cerberus."

* * *

Rod was pissed. Not only had he been humiliated, he was the laughing stock of the school by now. For once, he dreaded going back and that was because he was afraid that those guys were going to tell _everyone_ about what had happened during their practice.

What the hell had he been thinking? He had known that he wasn't good at sports; he had never been good at them. Had he let his ego blind him to this obvious fact?

He needed to work off some stress and he had three ways of doing that. One was to have sex, always a stress relieving activity. Another was origami. It took a lot of concentration and control to make those birds of his and he was branching out to more complex designs but right now, he was not in the mindset for it.

That just left only one thing for him to do.

With some adrenaline-pumping hard rock blaring from the stereo system, he had thrown himself into the throng of gym equipment he had set up in the basement. Yes, working out was a way that he could relieve stress, one that could leave him so physically tired that he wouldn't be able to care about anything for a while and enable him to fall into a dead sleep once he was done.

That was not to say he was stressed all the time; he just liked working out and the burn that he got in his muscles whenever he did it.

Currently, he was engaging in some bicep curls, his eyes trained on the muscle in question as he lifted the weighted barbell up and down. It was always so mesmerizing for him to watch his muscles contract and relax with every push, pull, lift, or press he did. He loved the aroma of sweat that flooded his nostrils and the rush of blood feeding his muscular system as was shown by the large vein that was embracing his bicep. In his head, he counted how many curls he had done, keeping in mind the number of repetitions accomplished.

Switching to his other arm once he had reached ten, he propped the arm against the stand he was leaning again, flexing his fingers around the small barbell as he tightened and tested his grip on it before proceeding with the exercise.

Oh God, there was the burn he craved so much and he almost closed his eyes in ecstasy as he sensed the sensation. However, he had to keep them open so he wouldn't overdo it; if you focused on one part of your body too much, it would throw everything out of whack. It wasn't healthy to just focus on, let's say, your upper body and ignore your lower body. You needed to work your entire body or else you would just look like a freak.

His arm was tiring by the time he had reached five but this was his seventh repetition so it was to be expected. His arm was tired but that was the purpose; lifting too much caused the muscle being exercised to rip. As you rested, the muscle would repair itself and that is where strength and muscle mass come from.

He had read about it in a magazine once; couldn't for the life of him remember where.

He gritted his teeth, his brow creasing as he struggled to reach the magic number he had set as his goal. He was at eight…nine…almost there…ten!

Letting out a rush of air from his lungs, he set the barbell down on the matted floor and took a seat on a weight bench, snatching up a squeezing bottle of water and shooting a stream of it into his mouth. Grabbing a towel, he wiped the sweat off his face, lighting panting as he let himself rest a bit.

Now, let's see, what was he going to do next? He was still pissed off about this afternoon so perhaps he needed to do a few more exercises before calling it quits. He scanned over the equipment he had, his eyes resting on a machine fly and lighting up on it.

Wiping more sweat off his face, he stripped off the sweat-drenched tank top he still wore and made his way over to the exercise machine in question. Checking to see the amount of weight that was attacked to it and lightening it, he sat himself onto the padded seat, his back pressing up to a back pad.

Wrapping his arms around the two padded handles, he let himself settle into position, bracing himself for the strain he would feel and then began to push his arms forward, his pectorals clenching and flexing under the strain of the weight. Once he got into the rhythm of the exercise, he let his mind wander a bit all the while keeping a strict count of how many pushes he made.

Slightly lulled, he thought about how he was going to handle things. Now that he thought about it, he had only endeared himself to the girls. That was bad as that was just halving his resources. He supposed the time was coming that he would have to make nice with the guys. But with the humiliation of this afternoon still fresh, he grimaced to himself as he wondered what he could possibly do.

He had blown the whole cool image he had been trying to create with at least a good portion of the school. He could already hear all the taunts and name-calling, the most common being "Loser." Fuck, what was he going to do? What _was_ he going to do?

He paused in his repetitions as a thought occurred to him. Why not try to look humble? It worked enough with girls and if he added in something about losing his temper, he could perhaps gain some consideration from the guys and get some more breathing room with them. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea but he couldn't just go to anyone.

Wendy's ex obviously had some dislike for him and odds were the guy's homies would back him up. At the same time, he couldn't just go to those that hated the jock either. So…it would have to be somebody who was in-between; someone who didn't hate the guy but at the same time could care less about him. This was going to have to take a little work but he had worked magic with less before.

Things were looking up here, now that he was beginning to get a plan in mind. In the meantime, it was time he start putting a little pressure on his next few conquests. He needed to screw someone and soon; he hadn't been this celibate since he had gotten his cherry popped. Now who was on his list?

Before he could go any further into those thoughts, he remembered that he had been in the middle of a workout. What number had he been on? Which repetition was it? Eh, he'd start over but do only half of what he typically did. No sense overdoing things and now that he was feeling less stressed than before, he figured he could call it quits after this.

Damn he was good.

* * *

"Face wet with tears? Don't forget to bring a towel," Towelie said as he sat a few feet away from Sunny as the girl watched horror movie after horror movie in a vain attempt to cheer herself up. She was bundled up in a blanket, a litter of used tissues littering the area around her and a couple of empty ice cream cartons (gallon sized) where she was planted on the couch.

Sunny couldn't bring up enough nerve to say anything to the talking inanimate object. She was no way in the mood to be happy and none of the blood and guts she watched being spilled was livening her mood.

In another room, she was barely aware of her mother muttering to herself, expressing some worry about her. As much as Sunny didn't like to worry her, she found herself too depressed to do anything about it.

"…wanna get high?" Towelie asked, looking at a loss for anything else he could say.

She ignored the towel. Usually, she would have tried to keep him from lighting up but the whole thing with Rod was taking everything from her. Her mind kept replaying everything, trying to figure out just what happened that caused Rod to become so distant towards her. Was it because she hadn't called him after he had dropped her off that one morning? Was he just testing her to see if she was dedicated? What was it?

She couldn't bring herself to muster up some tears; she felt as if she had cried so much that she could no longer shed any.

Beside her, Towelie had taken out a joint and was lighting it up. Slowly, his white eyes reddened as they always did when he smoked pot and he relaxed back into the couch lazily with a small smile on his face.

"Oh man, I have no idea what's going on," Towelie said out loud.

You and her both. She could smell the smoke of marijuana reaching her nostrils but she only snorted it out. Other than that, she made no other effort to do anything.

* * *

It was the first Friday of the school year and most of the student population was relieved. It was something you could feel in the air and if you couldn't do that, all you had to do was listen to the students talking about what they were going to do this weekend.

Bain sneered at it. It was so juvenile of them all and he had to resign himself to suffer under it for the next eight to nine hours. Didn't these morons think of anything else or at least something different? No, that would be asking too much of them. He had forgotten how basic their thought processes were.

Well, no matter, he had to do his rounds. What were those precisely? None of your damn business, that's what they were.

He stuck to the edges of the hallways, keeping himself out of sight and out of mind. While some people would despair in no one paying any attention to them, he reveled in it. What was so great in having people know you were there? He knew about the reputation he had but instead of being peeved by it, he had been amused. Out of a spontaneous impulse, he had done nothing to correct the rumors but instead fanned the flames.

In the long run, it would probably screw him over but he enjoyed the fear he could coax out of these sheep just by his presence alone. It gave him a surge of power and made him feel like he was the one in charge of all the mindless blobs that were these teenagers. With a look, he could herd them from one side of the school to another; his shadow alone caused students to huddle in on themselves as if the temperature around them had dropped by ten degrees.

Fuck respect, he had fear but he didn't have to shove it in other's faces like some people around here would.

He was a living shadow in this school, a phantom if you will, who was in place one moment and gone in the next. He was always there, listening and watching, protecting what he considered to be his.

One Charlotte White fit into that category thus today he was keeping an eye out for one person in particular, a Rod Woods, who had gotten it into his head that she was free game. He hadn't liked the jackass when he had first laid eyes on him and he detested him once he saw how the teen flitted from girl to girl, only one thing on his mind.

What was the fastest way he could get into their pants?

Now usually he reserved his judgment of people until after he could put facts he knew about them together and then place them into one of two groups. One group was those he hated and the other group was those he wanted to torture long and painfully. The first group was larger than the second one which was more exclusive than the first.

Thus far, he only had a few names in the latter group: Eric Cartman, Rhiannon Edwards, and a janitor who had caught him in the hallway without a hall pass when he was still in Elementary and reported him. He was working on those three, okay? Their luck couldn't hold out forever.

Right now, Mr. Woods was inching his way into that second group and from what he had overheard from his very mouth, the newbie didn't take the talk about him seriously. Well, he had left him a little surprise in his locker. It wasn't hard breaking into the school file room and finding the records on Rod Woods. Funny, his first name was Robert, not Rod, yet he introduced himself by it to everyone within earshot. Anyway, it was a simple matter to finding his locker and the combination that went with it.

Knowing the hulk whose brain was in his groin was taken care of, he kept an eye out for his usual quarry. It didn't take long spotting out Rhiannon Edwards; the girl was a walking epileptic seizure waiting to happen. You'd have to be colorblind not to see her a mile away.

He fiddled with Winslow still tucked into his trenchcoat as he pondered on what he was going to try and attempt today. He stopped, though, when he spied out Christophe 'ze Mole' DeLorne keeping an eye on her as well. He had learned not to attempt anything on the girl when the French national was anywhere near. It was going beyond irritating at this point; weren't they broken up? Then why was he still tailing her? Oh, there was no doubt in his mind that the bastard still had feelings for the cunt but really, this unresolved sexual tension was killing his mojo.

Something was going to have to give and give soon. Otherwise, he'd have to stalk down another victim like the late Charles Kincade of Kincade Talent Agency.

Hmm? What was this?

He watched in curiosity as Christophe physically took his eyes off Rhiannon to speak with a scarecrow of a boy with auburn hair. Idly, he recognized the boy as being Sawyer Thompson. He had seen the boy in a few of his classes enough to memorize his name but he didn't really have anything to do with him…

The gears in his head began turning as the form of a plan began to take root. Maybe there was a way he could use this if only to give him the small window of opportunity that he needed. Yes, it could work but first he needed to set some groundwork. Oh, you Edwards bitch, your days were numbered now!

Flitting away from the scene, chuckling under his breath, he scanned the moving crowd of students, searching for his next source of entertainment.

"You have a good time last night, Wendy 2?" Stan Marsh asked one Gwendolyn Long. Bain saw how the girl's cheeks reddened a bit and in no way was it from embarrassment. What was going on here?

"Stan, honey, I would really appreciate it if you would stop calling me that," Gwendolyn said to him slowly, as if speaking to a four year old.

"Calling you what, Wendy 2?" Stan asked innocently.

"Can't you call me Ash or something?" the girl asked and was that a hint of desperation he heard in her voice?

"I don't know, that sounds a bit tough to remember," Stan said uncertainly. "I think Wendy 2 suits you better."

Bain left at this point, rolling his eyes at the impending lover's spat that was about to occur. That is if "Wendy 2" didn't want to keep her catch then she would probably try to whine and nag until Marsh acquiesced. Well, whatever she did, he was uninterested.

He passed by Butters Stotch and Tweek Tweak as he continued his prowl, the latter of the two shivering as if he had just felt a cold draft wash over him.

"Oh Jesus! I think someone just walked over my grave!"

"Really? What makes you say that?" Butters asked, lacking the familiar naivety that he was known for in the early days. Those two were beneath his interest anyway.

"Girls, you will not believe what happened to me yesterday!" Brittany Love gossiped to her usual crowd, the cheerleaders in which Bain had yet to fathom the reason why they were funded. "Kenny came over and asked me out on a date! For tonight!"

There were the usual accompanying squeals and a few "No ways!" at the unveiling of the oh so important news. Bain snorted to himself as he continued walking. Why should she be so excited about getting a date with McCormick of all people? It was just going to end as a short fling or a one night stand. It was a good thing that Charlotte didn't reciprocate any of his perversions or else he just might have to slay the poor son of a bitch.

Turning a corner, he halted then stepped back, peeking around it as he observed Charlotte opening her locker. He felt then unfamiliar sensation of nervousness as he watched her take out the withered black rose he had left in there for her that morning and his heart fluttered giddily as he saw the way she gently held it.

He wasn't used to feeling this way, feeling like one of those pathetic, love-starved teenagers that he once upon a time sneered at. He hated feeling like that yet at the same time reveled in it. It was a whole paradox of feeling that not even someone as intelligent as he could resolve.

He didn't know whether or not he wanted to resolve it.

How come it was this one girl who could make him feel like a little boy, dazed by the sense of adoration he had for her? Why her? Why Charlotte White of all people? Why did she make him feel like he wanted to fall to his knees and hug her waist like a small child would to their mother? To press his ear against her chest and listen to that heartbeat of hers that sent liters of blood throughout her body? To stroke the scar on her left hand and marvel at his handiwork and rue it at the same time?

It was too much control for someone to have over him yet he found that he didn't want to do anything to correct it.

Bah, she was making him soft…

Movement down the hall caught his attention and he narrowed his eyes at Robert Woods. Oh, he had forgotten about him for a moment. Maybe it was time that he formally introduce himself…

* * *

Greeting Alicia with a peck on the lips, Rod led the tanned blonde into the school. He felt tense, like he was a drug addict that had gone on too long without having a hit. He knew what he needed to do but the question was, could he get what he wanted from Alicia, no questions asked?

Then he saw Charlie at her locker, holding a rotten looking rose and his earlier tenseness vanished in favor for the anticipation of the hunt. He smirked, eyeing Alicia subtly and wondering if she would make a good excuse to approach the other girl. Everybody liked meeting new people, didn't they? Charlie shouldn't be any different but he was curious about the weed.

Only one way to find out.

As he drew closer to the girl, beside him Alicia began getting antsy. It was like she not only recognized Charlie but was uncomfortable in approaching her. He wondered why that was but decided on finding out what it was about later.

Once he was within speaking distance, Charlie shutting her locker door at that time, he opened his mouth and asked, "What's with that?"

Charlie snapped her head up and looked in his direction, giving him a ticked expression. She gripped onto the withered rose in her hands, apparently not noticing the thorns that were biting into her hands because of that. "What do you want?" she demanded. "I thought I told you I wasn't interested. At all."

"Hey, no need to jump the gun," Rod said consolingly. "I was just wondering what that thing in your hand was, that's all."

Charlie raised an eyebrow at him skeptically. "That's it?"

"Well…that and I wanted to introduce you to Alicia here," he said, gesturing his head towards the blonde girl who was obviously uncomfortable and wanting to be somewhere else.

"It's a rose and now that you've introduced your little friend, why don't you skedaddle and leave her alone?"

Rod jumped, surprised at the unexpected voice and he whipped his head to a side only to find a very short guy in a black trenchcoat. The guy was looking at him coolly but Rod could tell that there was something burning in those eyes…whoa, that was freaky! The guy's eyes were different colors! It wasn't subtle at all but a stark contrast; the right eye was brown and the left one was green! Wow, just wow.

"Interested?" the guy stated more than asked. "Get over it and move along, pretty boy."

Okay, that attitude was beginning to get on his nerves. He squared his shoulders and stood straighter, not noticing how Alicia was cringing beside him.

"You're a rude customer, aren't you?" he said belligerently. "What, did you get up on the wrong side of the bed? Is that why your hair is all funky?"

"No, no, it's all natural," the guy said smoothly in response, moving around him to take a place next to Charlie who was giving him some kind of look, Rod couldn't tell what it was.

"This is the most civil I've seen you been with a new kid ever," Charlie said to the guy. "You must be in a good mood or something."

"Don't get used to it," the guy said dryly.

"Who is this guy?" Rod demanded with a frown. He was further irritated when Charlie and the guy looked backed him, giving him looks that clearly spoke that they had forgotten he was there.

"This is my boyfriend," Charlie stated unashamedly, "Bain."

Rod stared at the short guy, his brain using the little something that it hadn't used in a long time. What was it again? Oh wait, that's right. Reasoning.

Like a lightbulb or an old fashioned lamp clicking on inside his head (and in the thought bubble that had surreptitiously formed over his head), it finally hit him.

"Hold on, this is him?" he asked bewilderedly, gesturing with a hand to the guy in the trenchcoat. "This is the person I've been hearing all this bad stuff about? _This is the guy everyone's afraid of?_"

"At your service," Bain said wryly, not in the least bit affected by the hysterics. Rod had the feeling the guy would have bowed mockingly at him but was stopping himself from doing so.

However, that was the least of his concern. What Rod was so desperately trying to figure out is why a Hot Momma like Charlie was picking this little shrimp over someone as handsome and chiseled as him! It made no sense; he was a fucking upgrade!

"What have we here?" Bain said unexpectedly, his eyes focused on Charlie's hands for some reason. That's when Rod remembered the weed and watched as Bain gently pried opened Charlie's hand, revealing tiny rivets of blood that were leaking out from the small puncture wounds in her hands. "My, my, my, you ought to be more careful. You're lucky this wasn't soaked in arsenic beforehand."

"I don't know why I am not surprised to hear you say that," Charlie rolled her eyes. "That's a very you thing to say."

"I try," Bain replied noncommittally.

"Arsenic?" Rod repeated, blinking at Bain ludicrously. "Isn't that something bad?"

"Why yes, absolutely lethal," Bain answered, not looking at Rod. "Doesn't take too much for a fatal dosage but finding it in liquid form is a bitch. You have to take the powder form and dilute it in water, not efficient at all."

Alicia was pulling on Rod's jacket, trying to lead him away from the obviously deranged guy but Rod was having nothing of it. He looked up at Charlie and demanded, "Why do you hang around this guy? He's fucking insane!"

"The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a new result each time," Bain said idly. "I suppose that would mean working in a cubicle for thirty years and expecting to receive a pension only to be fucked over would qualify in that case, wouldn't it?"

"Normally I'd tell you to stop weirding the guy out but I'll make an exception this time," Charlie said to Bain.

"C'mon Rod, let's go," Alicia pleaded with him.

"Whatever," Rod said gruffly as he finally allowed himself to be directed away from Charlie and Bain. He couldn't believe it, that little guy was the bastard that everyone talked about and told him to stay away from? He was expecting him to be a bit taller than that, maybe up to his own height. What was so scary about him? He was puny!

"Rod, I don't know if I should stick around you," Alicia told him unexpectedly, biting at her lower lip. If anything, that caught his attention and he looked at the girl quickly. Oh no, he couldn't lose her right now, not when he was starting to get the itch.

"What?" he protested. "Why?"

"I don't want to be around those two," Alicia answered uneasily. "They're…they're both crazy! Everybody knows that!"

"Hey, if that asshole tries to pick anything with me, I'll kick his fucking ass," he told her confidentially. "I'll send him to the fucking hospital, break every bone in his body if I have to. No one fucks with me, especially someone that short."

"Well, if you say so," Alicia said uncertainly.

"Just relax," he told her soothingly. "I won't let anything happen to you." At that point, he was at his locker and opening it. Because he was facing her at the time, he didn't see what was in it until Alicia gave a shriek, staring wide-eyed at what was in there.

He snapped his head around and stared in absolute shock as he saw a dead and gutted raccoon hanging with a noose around its neck in the small space. What the—what—Jesus fucking Christ, what the fucking hell? How in the name of God did that fucking thing get in there and why hadn't he smelled it—oh wait, there was the stench. Christ.

There was a burst of laughter behind him and he turned to see Cartman at his old locker. "Oh God, that was fucking great!" the asshole crowed. "I wished I had thought of it first!" That was when Cartman opened his own locker and was promptly hit with the missing guts of the raccoon. On the back of Cartman's locker, some of the intestines were cut into pieces and shaped to form the words "Hands Off."

"Sick!" Cartman cried out appalled. "What the fucking hell! It's all over me!"

Rod stared in horror at the scene, unable to comprehend what was going on and by the time he was able to gather his wits, he found that Alicia was long gone. From that point on, whenever he would see her, she would look away and ignore him as if he had some kind of disease.

Presently, he balled his hands into fists, swearing to find out whoever had done this and show them why no one fucking messed with him.

* * *

"Huh, that didn't work out as planned," Bain commented as he watched both Rod and Cartman discover their "gifts." Beside him, Charlie gave him a look.

"Why am I not surprised," she groaned to herself. "I bet you're please with yourself, aren't you?"

"Not at all," Bain murmured. "The raccoon was for Cartman. The intestines were for the pretty boy. Since when did they start using each other's' lockers?"

"Come on lover boy," Charlie said as she dragged him away. "No need for you to be caught at the scene of your crime just yet."

"What went wrong?" Bain pondered out loud as he let himself be dragged.


	10. Kyle's Threeheaded Best Friend

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, death

Kyle's Three-headed Best Friend

To say that Rod was pissed was an understatement. No, he was more in the mood to tear the first person who looked at him wrong to tiny little pieces. Whoever had stuck that dead animal in his locker had blown up one of his prospects and now he was in a position he rarely found himself in.

He was going to have to seduce a girl in less than twenty-four hours and get into her pants before midnight. To do that would mean throwing away all the hard work he had put into making himself look like a good guy in front of all the girls and letting himself be taken over by his more primal urges.

Doing that would destroy any cred he had built up but he was at the point where he would abandon it in order to get what he needed.

Slamming his locker shut with unnecessary force, he turned away and rammed right into someone who happened to be passing by him at the moment.

It was a girl smaller than him (really, all of them were smaller than him) with long, raven black hair that was done in a bun and big blue eyes but what caught his attention about her were her lips that were so plump and red that he bet there would be juice in them instead of tissue and blood. When he had run into her, she had been carrying some things for her class but now they were scattered onto the floor, Cartman's laughter ringing in the background at the misfortune.

"Ey, watch where you're going!" the girl demanded of him, revealing the braces she had on her teeth. "Stupid jock not looking where he's going," she muttered to herself as she bent down and began gathering up her stuff though the way she moved made her look lethargic.

Rod frowned down at her, tempted to bite on his lip but resisting the impulse. Hmm, she wasn't bad looking; he could work with this.

"Sorry 'bout that," he said as he crouched down and began trying to help her. "Just in a bad mood and didn't see you behind me. Let me help you with this."

"Eh, it's the least you could do," the girl told him as she stopped collecting her stuff, forcing him to finish up the task by himself. "You should really watch out where you're going."

"Sounds like you're in a bad mood too," he said.

"Yeah, I am," the girl answered. "An idiot ran into me and made me drop everything."

Rod paused, an eyebrow twitching as he figured out just who she was pointing the finger at. "You must not be a morning person if you're being this short this early in the day."

"No, I'm having that time of the month again," she told him frankly, "and if you know what's good for you, you'll stay out of my way, dick."

If ever there was a red light to warn him to keep away, this was it. He may not have high standards but even he knew that you didn't trying to screw a girl with PMS. Too big a likelihood she'd get pregnant and he was in no way interested in opening that can of worms.

"Whatever," he rolled his eyes. Pushing the things that he had collected into her arms, he stood up and left, not wanting to feel his frustration boil over. Maybe it was because he wanted to keep whatever reputation he had intact for the moment or maybe he just wasn't that desperate yet, he didn't know.

…maybe he'd hit her up later, when she was more reasonable.

He didn't get very far when he heard someone call out to him. Telling by the voice, it was obviously a guy and when he looked to where it had come from, he saw four boys approaching him. He recognized three of them from yesterday at his tryout: the black-haired guy who owned him at tackling, the guy who had first thrown the ball at him, and the black kid. Beside the three in the green lettermen jackets was a twitching blond who held a thermos tightly in his hands.

Now what did they want?

It was the black kid who spoke first. "Hey new kid. No hard feelings about yesterday, right?"

Huh? Rod stared dumbly at the four. What the hell was this?

"Yeah, even if it was hilarious to see you do so badly, we just wanted to let you know that it wasn't personal," the brown-haired guy continued. "It's just that you're a new kid and we had to do something that either embarrassed you or had us kick your ass."

Okay, he had no idea what they were talking about.

"And we're nothing like Marsh's group," the black-haired lineman finished up. "Those guys are a bunch of assholes that nobody likes. Unless you like Peru, I'd tell you to stay away from them."

"Okay, I'm lost," he told them, holding up a hand as if to tell them to stop talking. "What are you talking about?"

"Dude, you're kinda dense, you know that?" the raven-haired lineman said. "You can't possibly tell me you didn't notice that war we had a few days ago. We were trying to pull a prank on you but the girls got in our way."

"Wait, that's what that was all about?" Rod exclaimed.

"Well, duh," the black kid said.

Eyeing them suspiciously, he asked warily, "So you're talking to me now, why?"

"Because it'll piss Marsh off," the black-haired leader of the group shrugged. "That guy and his friends are assholes."

"Craig, you already told them that," the brown-haired kid told him.

"And?" Craig asked his friend, looking at the brown-haired kid blandly.

Off to the side, the jittery blond trembled, looking as if he would have a seizure any minute.

"Well, anyway, what lunch do you have?" the black kid asked, doing his best to cut through the awkward silence that had occurred.

"First one," Rod shrugged.

"That's cool," the black kid said. "How would you like to eat with us today? It must be getting tiring sitting with the girls all the time."

"I don't stay at one table the whole time," Rod said, feeling relaxed by this point though he still had an itch that could not be fixed by scratching it. "I like sitting at many different ones."

"Hey, that's all right," the black kid told him. "Just know that if you ever feel like it, you can sit with us."

"I'll think about it," Rod said. "I gotta be going. I guess I'll see you around?"

"Where else would you see us?" the brown haired kid asked, oblivious to the looks Craig and the black kid were giving him.

Suddenly, the blond kid cried out, "Oh my God! Oh God! This…ack!...this is too much pressure man! Too much pressure!"

"Tweek, get a grip," Craig told the blond, sounding for once a bit concerned. "Relax. Drink some coffee."

Rod watched in disinterest as the blond, Tweek, struggled with the thermos he held before the brown-haired guy stepped in and opened it for him. He continued to watch as the blond sipped at the thermos where steam could be seen coming out of it. Personally, he thought this was weird and so made a note to himself that this Tweek was not to be pursued.

It just didn't seem to be worth it, man.

"Excuse our friend," the black guy said apologetically. "He gets edgy if he doesn't get his caffeine fix. You'll get used to it after a while."

That's what you think, Rod thought to himself. Still, no sense letting this lucky break go; here were some guys who were satisfied with yesterday's humiliation and were extending an olive branch of sorts. Far be it from him to not take it; it could come in handy later on.

Eyeing Tweek one last time, he said, "I'm gonna to be going to class now. I'll see you guys around."

"Cool," the black guy said, turning around to tend to the spastic blond.

The moment those eyes were turned away from him, Rod was out of there. He took large steps as he looked around for someone, anyone really, that could help him out with his growing problem. He passed by everyone, from guys to girls who he sent a charming smile at to that one androgynous guy he had seen the other day and still, nothing seemed to jump out at him.

He was beginning to think he might have to hit on that androgynous guy, he was getting that desperate, when something caught his eye and he had to slow down to get a good look at it. Was that Bonnie? She looked so sad for some reason…

Lips curling upwards, he thought to himself that she could use some "cheering up." Rod-style, of course.

Forcing himself to relax a bit, he strolled up to the sad looking blonde who gave out a heartfelt sigh. Wow, she looked down about something. He schooled his features to try and reflect sympathy, knowing that it would take him far in this kind of situation.

"Bonnie?" he ask aloud, "You're looking a bit down. Something wrong?"

Bonnie jumped and spun around, looking at him wide-eyed before slumping in on herself, as if she had been expecting someone else. Rod refused to frown at this, instead letting himself settle beside her, leaning against the row of lockers the girl was at.

"Talk to me," he told her gently.

It seemed like those were the magic words as Bonnie sighed deeply and then looked straight up at him, her eyes slightly watery but not at the point that tears would be beading up.

"Sorry, Rod, I'm not having a good day," she said softly.

"Something happen?" he asked, giving the impression that he wasn't going to be letting this go.

"It's nothing," Bonnie tried to say. "I'll be all right."

"Can't," he shrugged. "You look like your dog died. I can't in good conscious let you wander around today like this. What do you have to lose? Tell me."

"Well…" Bonnie sighed. "Have you heard yet? That Kenny and Brittany Love are going out?"

"First I've heard of it," he told her. He made a mental note to himself to get more involved with the rumor mill so that he could stay up-to-date with what went on around this place.

"I…I was kinda hoping that Kenny would ask me first," Bonnie mumbled, her face reddening slightly as she looked away. "I've had a crush on him for so long…but I could never do something about it."

Ah, so that was it. "Do you really like that guy so much?" he asked her. "You know, I could go talk with him…"

"Don't!" Bonnie exclaimed, shocking Rod slightly with how emotional she sounded. "I…I don't want to interfere. Kenny…Kenny deserves to be happy…even if it's not with me, right?" Her voice cracked at those last words but Rod was feeling anything but sympathetic.

If anything, he was starting to get a good idea of what was making this girl tick.

"You know, even if it does make Kenny happy, that doesn't mean you have to be unhappy," he told her gently. "Tell you what, meet me out in the parking lot after school. I want to see if maybe I can cheer you up."

"That's so sweet of you," Bonnie said to him, sniffing. "But I'll be okay. You don't have to do anything."

"Hey, what are friends for?" he asked, giving her one of his patented heart-throbbing smiles that he was pleased to note had some effect on the girl. "I'll come find you, okay? It's Friday, why be miserable over the whole weekend? Let's just do something and have some fun while doing it? What d'ya say?"

He didn't need to hear her say anything; he knew his answer from the look in her eyes.

Bingo.

* * *

Things had been quiet today, Stan found, which instantly made him suspicious. Whenever it was quiet in this town, it was sure that something big was going to happen.

Was there something different today? Looking around the classroom, he only saw the other kids and Mr. Garrison at the front giving another of his bullshit lectures so there was nothing new there.

"Alright, class, take out your assignment from yesterday," the sexually ambiguous teacher said. "I'll call you up one at a time and take role at the same time."

Yep, same old boring stuff. Wait, Kyle wasn't in his seat. His eyes pinpointed the empty desk with ease and he finally realized that his best friend had yet to show up today.

Was he sick and dying again? Damn it, he knew he should have double-checked that kidney he stole from Cartman! But…if he was sick, he would have known how bad it was by now if it was that bad. Did he have a doctor's appointment? Probably but he did recall a time when Kyle found he had been infected with AIDS, once again courtesy of Cartman, so he pondered if there was anything new about Cartman that might contribute to Kyle's current absence.

Nope. Not a damn thing.

Then what else could it—

The door to Garrison's class suddenly opened and there stood a panting Kyle whose face was flushed red with exhaustion. Had he run all the way here and if so, why hadn't he called earlier to ask for a ride?

"Well, well, look who's late so early in the school year," Garrison said. "I'm disappointed in you Kyle. I thought you were the type that always showed up early."

"Sorry. House trouble," Kyle panted breathlessly.

"I bet it's trouble," Cartman snickered. "Did your ass pirate boyfriend get his dick stuck up your ass, Jew?"

Before Kyle could go off, Garrison snapped at him, "It's too early Eric. Keep that mouth of yours shut for at least another twenty minutes, alright? You can rip on Kyle then." Turning back to Kyle, "And since you're up at the front, you can have the honor of being the first to turn in their homework."

The redness of Kyle's face had changed from being tired due to running to being pissed at Cartman and now it was red from embarrassment. Yes, Stan could tell which color red was which when it was on Kyle's face. It wasn't weird or anything, just something you picked up after spending so much time with the same person.

Garrison frowned at Kyle and began tapping his foot on the floor irritably. "Well? Is something the matter, Kyle?"

"Ehm…my…my dog ate it," Kyle said under his breath, bowing his head low.

"Excuse me?" Garrison said, staring at Kyle.

"My dog ate my homework," Kyle said a little louder, wincing as some people giggled at the oldest and lamest excuses used to get out of turning something in. Stan was ashamed of his best friend; couldn't he have picked something better? It was obvious that he hadn't done it.

Wait, Kyle didn't do his homework? Stan could kinda see why his best friend would have trouble because of Damien and all but Kyle was a stickler for doing his work early. Not doing his homework was something the Jew would never do.

"Kyle, I expected better of you," Garrison stated, frowning at Kyle in disappointment. "That's the oldest excuse in the book. It's so old that my _father_ used it. At least you could have given me some bullshit excuse that involved Muslim terrorists kidnapping your family and sodomizing you so that I could feel at least a _little bit_ guilty about refusing it. Really, son, you are practically asking for an F."

"Um, my dog followed me to school," Kyle said quietly. "I think I can hear him from the window."

Now that he mentioned it, Stan could swear he heard some strange breathing sound coming from where the window was. It was probably some smoker or a Goth kid smoking by the window, no big deal.

"Is that so?" Garrison asked, eyes narrowing at Kyle. "So I should be able to go to that window over there, lift up the blinds, and see this dog of yours, am I right?"

"Yes sir," Kyle said quietly, head bowed.

"Oh, you sound so confident," Garrison mocked. "You know what, since you've been so _honest_ this whole time, I'll go take a peek out the window and see if I can't find that dog of yours." As he spoke, Garrison approached the window, his hand reaching for the string that would lift the blinds up.

Much to Stan's puzzlement, Kyle did nothing to try and dissuade Garrison from going through with his mockery. Did Kyle know something he didn't?

"C'mon class, let's all look at Kyle's dumb dog," Garrison jested as his hand gripped the blinds' string and pulled down on it.

Instead of seeing a clear day with the sun up and reflecting off the white snow, the window was blocked off by a large animal of some kind. Stan couldn't really tell what it was but he could large red eyes that he could swear flames were licking out of, coal black skin and fur, and the largest set of teeth he had ever seen an animal have from which a loud, guttural growl hissed at Garrison.

Stuck and embedded in the teeth were various pieces of shredded paper.

The whole class was quiet and Garrison stood there, staring at the beast that was glaring back. Slowly, Garrison lowered the blinds, fixed himself then walked back towards the front of the room where he cleared his throat.

"I guess I could see about giving you an extension to Monday," Garrison told Kyle, not sounding in the least bit ruffled by what he had seen. "Just don't let it happen again."

"Ey!" Cartman roared. "Why does the Goddamn Jew get an extension and I don't? It's not fucking fair!"

"Well Eric, if you had an unholy hellbeast follow you to school and eat your homework, I might extend to you the same courtesy," Garrison said. "Until then, you shut your fucking trap, don't use the fucking F-word, and turn in your fucking assignment just like everybody fucking else." Turning back to Kyle, he said calmly, "Please take your seat."

"Thank you, Mr. Garrison," Kyle said quietly as he scurried over to his desk.

Now, you are probably wondering what Stan was thinking at this point. Well, there were two things on his mind. The first of which was how did Kyle find a "dog" like that? The second was where could he, Stan, get one?

* * *

This day was just zipping by, wasn't it? It was lunch and Rod found himself wondering where he was going to sit down. Sure, he had that invitation from earlier to sit with Craig, Tweek, and those other guys, but he was leaning more towards female company.

He had a prospect lined up but he wanted to ensure that he was going to score that night. So when he saw Charlie all alone again, he found that he couldn't resist one more chance to bag her.

He was never a person to resist his urges anyway.

"Are you trying to get a Darwin award or something?" Charlie demanded as he took a seat right next to her. "I have never seen anybody try so hard to make themselves extinct."

"Hey, I like what I see," he shrugged not repentant in the slightest. "Besides, I'm not afraid of that psycho you call a boyfriend. I've been here for what, a week, and he shows himself now? I can handle him, you'll see."

"You don't have the balls to do that," Charlie quipped right back at him. "Handling Bain is a full time job. You lose sight of him for a minute, he's probably gutting some poor schmuck that pissed him off."

"What do you see in that guy anyway?" he asked, ignoring what she was saying. It was the same thing all over again. Really, all the stuff said about that shrimp had to be hype. No one that short could be responsible for half of what he was accused of. "If he's done any of what people say he has, shouldn't you consider going out with someone more safer?"

"Crazy people are my type," she said dryly. "And for the record, I fucking hate asshole like you who think they are God's gift to the world but can only shoot blanks when it counts."

Okay, that was taking it too far. He began to wonder if maybe he should teach her some discipline…

"Already 'itting below ze belt? You must be nearing ze end of your rope," Christophe said as he took a seat at the other side of the table. "I can see where you are coming from. Zis is really getting old. Oh, by ze way Charlie, ze wheezle will be 'ere momentarily."

"How long have you been in this country?" Rod suddenly demanded, having enough of being bashed and dismissed. "Why do you still have that fucking accent?"

Christophe glowered at him but Rod did not heed the warning signs that maybe he had taken things a bit too far. He wasn't going to let these nobodies boss him around, not anymore. Who the fuck did they think they were that they were so high and mighty?

"Are you fucking high?" Charlie demanded, also looking offended for her friend. "Or maybe you're just drunk?"

"You know, I can think of a million uses for that mouth of yours," he told her, not caring what he was saying. "Not one of them includes talking."

Charlie looked like she wanted to kill but for a second, her eyes lifted off of him, as if looking at something behind him, but then returned to him, the venom not lessened a bit. However, his attention was soon drawn away from both Charlie and Christophe as a large hunting knife found itself in the table, the blade uncomfortably close to his person.

His eyes widened at the sight and slowly, he raised his gaze up and found two different colored eyes boring into him from a distance of a few inches away. Bain was staring at him blandly but slowly his lips quirked upward and his eyes seemed to glow evilly.

"That wasn't very kosher of you," Bain's velvety yet scratchy voice spoke as he yanked the knife out of the table. "I have nothing against what you just said, pretty boy, but it is to _who_ you said it to. Allow me to inform you that I'm the only one allowed to say such a thing to Charlotte. Now, unless you would like for me to carve off your face right here, right now, I'd advise you to leave and keep away. Otherwise, it'll be you I cram into your locker, gutless of course."

"That was _you_?" Rod exclaimed, eyes widening.

"Our little secret," Bain replied, tapping the end of his knife against his nose. "However, there is one thing I am curious about. Why are you using Eric Cartman's locker? The raccoon was for him and the intestines were suppose to be for you. Care to explain?"

"You're a sick son of a bitch," Rod growled at the smaller teen.

"Who said you could call him that?" Charlie spoke up from behind him. "I'm the only one who can call him a psycho."

"Perhaps we should carve out that tongue of his," Bain suggested with a smirk. "Frenchie, light up a cigarette while you're at it. We'll need something to cauterize the wound."

"Fuck off," Christophe said lightly though there was a cigarette lighter being fingered in his hand.

Abruptly, Rod threw himself away from the trio, giving them all a look of horror. "What the hell are you people?" he cried out.

Giving him a creepy smirk, Charlie answered, "We're the fear that keeps you awake…"

"We're the shadows on the wall…" Bain picked up, taking a step towards him.

"We're the monsters they become…" Charlie continued.

"And you get the idea," Bain finished smoothly. "Now, let's play a game of surgery. I'll be the doctor, Charlotte will be my nurse, and you'll be the patient. What's your malfunction? Well, we'll have to figure that one out by cutting you open, won't we?"

Rod was fleeing for his life less than a second later.

* * *

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

Rod hadn't stopped running until he was at the back of the school, his heart hammering within his chest as he tried to figure out just what the hell had happened back there. That…that had been fucking freaky, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

If that bitch was so happy with that freak, fine by him. She could fucking have him and make freaky babies that were cannibals and had webbed feet for all he cared. He still wanted to teach her a lesson, though, one right out of Rod's School of Tough Love where he was the professor and she was his prop.

It was a fantasy that seemed doomed to remain a gleam in his eye.

"What's with people coming out here all of a sudden? Have those conformists already forgotten that this is our turf or something?"

"Would you look at this one? Looks like a freakin' Greek statue and most likely has the personality of one."

"What? Plain, white, and stiff?"

"You got it."

Slowly, Rod turned his head towards the source of those voices and found five black-clad teens sitting around wherever they wanted, four of them handling lit cigarettes while another had a sketch pad set up against his knees. The longer Rod stared at them, the more he was able to pick out other features, such as the black eye shadow, the pale skin, the bags under their eyes, and two of them had dye in their hair, one of which was red streaks while the other had a single patch of blue.

It took him a minute but he recalled having seen similar people back in Oregon. What had they called themselves? Oh yeah, Goths.

"Better keep an eye on Kuran," the fat, female Goth said, speaking to the red-streaked Goth and the curly-haired Goth. "This conformist might try to steal him away."

"I'd like to see him try," the Goth with red streaks in his hair stated, placing a hand on the shoulder of the Goth with the sketchbook in his lap.

"Yeah, you like what you see, conformist?" the tall, curly Goth said, looking at him pointedly. "Well too bad, all you get to do is look. No touching."

The Goth with the sketchbook, the person Rod believed to be this "Kuran" guy, shifted uncomfortably under all the attention. He said nothing, though, and just kept his eyes down.

"Fuck off losers," Rod growled at the Goths, flipping them the bird and stomping away, not wanting to deal with territorial Goths right now.

"Oh, how conformist," the fat Goth chick commented, rolling her eyes at his back.

Okay, officially, this day was turning out to be bad. He wanted to punch something, anything, as long as it could release the tension he could feel building up inside of him. He swore to himself, the next person that got close to him, he was going to punch their lights out. He had had it up to here with all this shit.

Who the hell did these mountain town assholes think they were? Did they really think they were any better than him? They were hicks, all of them. Fucking rednecks who fucked their sisters and made a bunch of freaky babies. Did they not know their place? Did they?

He heard the clacking of high heels against the pavement so he was aware that someone was coming up behind him before they were able to say anything. Tired of being snuck up on and taunted, he spun around and grabbed the shoulders of the unlucky guy that was going to be served up a nice, hot meal made of a knuckle sandwich.

Grabbing the person's shoulders was as far as he got as he immediately recognized the features of a girl and his aching libido put a stop to whatever pain he was planning to unleash. He blinked dumbly at the girl until the name "Devin" popped up in his head. Hey, wasn't she popular around this joint? And wasn't she one of the big ones that gave him googly eyes? Yes, here was a girl who knew where she stood, someone he could work with. Wait, her mouth was moving up and down; that meant she was talking, right?

"Rod? Rod! Are you okay?" Devin asked worriedly and Rod gathered up what wits he could quickly.

"Oh God, a friendly face," he moaned dramatically as he gave her a look of exhaustion, as if he had been walking through a desert without water. Without a further thought, he released his hold on her shoulders only to wrap his arms around them and bring Devin into an embrace. "You have no idea what this means to me."

"That's because you've been hanging out with the weirdoes," Devin giggled at him, lightly hugging him back. "Why don't you come back to our table and hang out with us?"

"I just wanted to make some friends," he told her. "I guess that's blowing up in my face."

"No, you just need to know where you belong," Devin told him, smiling at him sweetly. "And I can tell you that; you belong with me and my friends. Forget about Wendy and that freak Charlie; they're nothing but trouble."

"You're so nice to me," he said softly, turning them around so that he had Devin slightly pressed against the school building. "You make me just…want to…" Not finishing his sentence, he crashed his lips onto her and delved his tongue deep into the chasm that was her mouth.

He felt her gasp but instead of pulling away, she leaning more into him, her hands clutching on him as if she wanted more. Who was he to deny her that? Fuck all those others, this is what he needed.

Pure, primal lust.

He gripped her wrists and held them slightly above her head, maneuvering a knee between her legs and he broke off from a lips in favor of raining little butterfly kisses over whatever patch of skin he could reach.

Yes, yes, this was so much more familiar now. It was what he knew without a doubt, what he felt safe and secure doing. Maybe…maybe he could squeeze in a quickie. If he distracted her long enough, she wouldn't care that he would be giving her a good reason to limp. He needed this so very much, so—

He froze as he heard a loud, unnatural growl come behind him. He could feel Devin tense up against him and slowly, he turned his head around to find a large dog head glaring at him, hackles raised and teeth showing. Then he noticed to the left and the right of the head that there were two other heads, each one subtly different from one another but all three glaring straight at him and Devin.

…fucking cockblock…

* * *

Cerberus bowed his three heads, his tail tucked between his legs as he knew he was in trouble. The small human whom his master had given him to was giving him this look of disappointment and he couldn't help but feel ashamed.

"First my homework and now the school," Kyle grumbled, not needing to raise his voice since Cerberus could hear him quite clearly. "Why didn't you stay home when I told you to?"

"Dude, don't be so harsh on him," Kyle's larger friend in the red poof ball hat said. "He got us out of school; we have the rest of the day off!"

Cerberus's right head so wanted to chew on that red poof ball.

"Stan, he crushed half the gym and tore a hole into the kitchen, not to mention he ate all the black forest sugar-free pudding," Kyle listed off, ticking each point on a finger. "It's not even my lunch and I was so looking forward to getting some pudding, man!"

Maybe if Cerberus regurgitated the pudding, perhaps his new master wouldn't be mad at him anymore?

"Forget about the pudding, man, I want to know where you got the dog," Kyle's other friend in the orange parka said. Cerberus couldn't really say if it was orange since he was colorblind and all. "It must have cost a fortune."

"Damien gave him to me," Kyle said, his head lowering slightly as he looked away. Was his new master uncomfortable? Well, his old master had told him that he had to make sure his new master was happy at all times. Could Cerberus gnaw on a leg and settle the matter?

"Kyle, I know you're gay and everything but I think you should find yourself a better boyfriend," the mortal in the red poof ball hat said. "There's no way this can be healthy for you."

"Alright Stan, you try telling the Antichrist of all people 'no' and see how far that gets you," Kyle said to his friend.

Cerberus' old master could be scary when he got pissed off.

"C'mon Stan, live a little," the mortal in the parka said as he climbed up onto one of Cerberus' legs and began scratching behind the ear of the left head. "I think it's pretty cool having the guardian of the underworld as a housepet. No one will ever break into your house again and if they do, they'll have to get past this guy."

"Kenny, I think your priorities are messed up," the mortal with the red poof ball hat said slowly. "This is getting too serious. We gotta find some way to get rid of Damien before he turns Kyle into some unholy demonspawn and tries to impregnate him or something."

"Thanks Stan, that really makes me feel a lot better," Kyle said dryly. "What a way to remind me that I'm the Antichrist's bitch."

"You're welcome man," the mortal in the red poof ball hat said, patting Kyle on the shoulder. Cerberus raised his right head, searching for any sign that his new master might be in danger. Nothing so down went the right head as the left continued to be petted by the mortal in the parka.

"Speaking of bitches," the mortal in the parka said, "where's yours, Stan?"

"Wendy 2?" the mortal in the red poof ball hat said. "Eh, she got spooked when she saw Kyle's new dog. I think I need to be looking for her. Hopefully she didn't get too far."

"You are such a dumbass," the mortal in the parka chuckled but it wasn't loud enough for the mortal in the red poof ball hat to hear. Cerberus, though, heard it clearly.

"Alright Kenny, you can stop playing with Dip," Kyle said. "Get on down here before you get yourself hurt."

The mortal in the parka blinked at Cerberus' new master in confusion. "Dip? I thought his name was Cerberus?"

"The middle head's name is Cerberus," Kyle explained patiently. "The left head is Dip, as in the evil dog from a Catalan myth, and the right head is Marley from that movie _Marley and Me_."

"Whatever," the mortal in the parka shrugged and jumped off of Cerberus' leg.

Smacking its lips, the left head, Dip, closed in on the mortal in the parka and gave him a great big lick in appreciation for the ear rub. It took talent to give a good one and Cerberus hadn't had a good one in a few millennia's.

"Aw, he likes me!" the mortal in the parka crowed.

"If you give him a belly rub, he'd be your best friend," Kyle snarked back.

"Ooh, ooh! Brownie points with the guard dog! I'm in!" the mortal in the parka said. "Now, how can I get this pup on its side and—huh?"

On the side where Dip had licked him, smoke was rising from Kenny who looked at it curiously. Suddenly, he began screaming in pain as the saliva that had been left on him from Dip's lick began reacting like acid and ate him up. In no time at all, there was hardly even a pile of mush on the ground where the mortal in the parka had once stood.

The mortals just stared at the sight for a moment before the mortal in the red poof ball hat screamed.

"Oh my God! Cerberus killed Kenny!"

"You bastard!" Kyle bellowed in response, waving a fist in the air.

Uh oh, it looked like Cerberus was in trouble again.

* * *

"Only in South Park would they cancel school because a three-headed dog wrecked half the building," Charlie grumbled to herself. "I swear, this town must be a portal to Hell or something."

"I think it's fascinating," Bain replied from beside her. He was oddly calm for some reason and while that put Charlie slightly on edge, she did wonder why he seemed so loose. "I've always wanted to see the great Kerberos in the flesh; to think I always thought the only way I would was if I died."

"Don't you mean Cerberus?" Charlie corrected.

"No, I mean Kerberos," Bain stated. "It's the original Greek form of the name. Cerberus is the Latinized form of the name."

"To-ma-to, to-mah-to," Charlie rolled her eyes. "Only you would be that anal about names."

"You probably wouldn't be saying that if you knew the meaning of your name," Bain smirked back at her. "Personally, I think it's appropriate given your personality and behavior."

"You actually found time to find out what my name means?" Charlie asked, giving the smaller boy a strange look.

"Your name means 'free woman,'" Bain said as if he hadn't heard her. "Charlotte is the feminine form of the name Charles which means 'free man.' Your nickname means the same thing except it means free as in beastly in nature. You and I both know how feral you can be, dear Charlotte so I really appreciate it that you are 'free' so to speak."

"You have a lot of time on your hands," Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Let me guess, you also looked up what your name means? I bet it means evil or vicious or something."

"You'd be wrong there," Bain answered. "It actually can mean one of three things. The first is 'bone' as in being tall or lean. In Middle English, it means 'welcoming' and 'hospitable' though in Old Norse it's 'straight' or 'direct.' The last one is my least favorite; it's French for 'bath.' Roman baths to be precise but we all can't be 'free' like you, can we?"

"Well, you're definitely straight and direct," Charlie mused. "You sure as hell ain't welcoming or hospitable. You probably do bathe regularly but you know what, I prefer bone. Especially since you like breaking them."

"You flatter me," Bain said coolly. "You want something, don't you? Why else would you try and butter me up like this?"

"You're so paranoid," she teased. "Do I really need a reason to compliment you?"

"Yes," Bain said without hesitation.

"And you wonder why I call you a bastard all the time," she grumbled.

"But I'm not a bastard," Bain said innocently. "I do have a father who's alive and kicking."

"Thanks for the indirect insult," she spat back.

"You play with fire, Charlotte, you're going to be burned," Bain replied casually. Sunlight glinted off the blade of Winslow as Bain took out his favorite knife and admired it.

"Really, where do you keep that thing on you?" she demanded. "I know every place on the human body you could hide something like that and somehow when I search you for it, I never find it."

"You of all people should know about sleight-of-hand," Bain answered. "You can't always believe what your eyes see. They play tricks on you from time to time."

"Funny you should say that," Charlie smirked at him. "If you had been paying attention, you would know where we are right now…and what time it is."

Bain looked at her funny, not comprehending what she had said. "You've lost me."

A car drove past them and took a left into a nearby driveway. Bain eyed it curiously but Charlie didn't need to see it to know whose it was…and who was in it.

"You've lived in South Park your entire life so you should know whose house this is," she said to him.

Bain gave her a deadened looked and said with a monotone, "It's your house."

A door to the car burst open and a bundle of blonde hair came rushing out, slamming itself against Bain with a force that almost made him stagger.

"I missed you Bain!" Tammy cried out in excitement as she squeezed her arms around Bain's waist. "I haven't seen you in a long, long time! Come in! Come in! Come play with me!"

Charlie saw Bain's eyes widen slightly and she found herself shaking in laughter at the look of betrayal Bain was shooting at her. She smirked back at him, clearly telling him that he not only was at fault for this but that he was on his own.

In the last story (how's that for breaking the fourth wall, hmm?) they were in, Bain had tried pulling the "turn your family against you" ploy but before he could really get into it, he had nearly drowned and gotten amnesia. Unfortunately for him, he had enamored Tammy so that while he was amnesic, he couldn't refuse her and ended up making her more smitten with him. Ever since he got his memory back, he'd been trying to avoid her house like it was quarantined.

For being such a smart guy, it was hilarious to see when he fucked up so badly.

"Ooh! That's a pretty knife!" Tammy cooed, her eyes set firmly on Winslow. "Is it for me?"

Bain's eyes practically bulged out of their sockets at even the thought of giving his favorite knife away and Charlie knew it galled him for that suggestion to ever be brought up with him. Now, she knew he wanted to bluntly tell Tammy flat out no but at the same time Charlie knew that he couldn't. It was probably some remnant of his amnesia or something because no matter what, Bain would never raise a hand at Tammy.

No really, she had seen him once try to hit her but he could never raise his fist up more than a few inches before dropping it down helplessly. Had it gone any higher, Charlie would have snapped that arm off him but since he never could go through with the physical abuse, Charlie felt that it was alright to leave the two of them together.

Bain was more afraid of Tammy than Tammy was of him. He wouldn't admit it but you too would be scared if a six-year old girl had an obsession about you.

Hmm, did it get a little chilly out here? She could feel the waves of anger radiating from Bain as he continued to glare at her, even as Tammy dragged him into the house, but she also knew that it got colder up in the mountains sooner than most places.

Eh, it was probably a cold front coming in, no worries.

* * *

Stan shifted uncomfortably in front of Brittany Love as the girl stared at him. It was like he had just told her a relative of hers had just died but he was only telling her that Kenny was currently unavailable but if he could, he would like to take her out tomorrow evening to make up for tonight.

He didn't know why but it felt as if something was taking hold of him and making him do this, even though he could faintly remember something bad happening to Kenny but he couldn't make out just what it was…

"But…but he said we were going out tonight!" Brittany protested.

"Yeah," Stan agreed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, "but something came up. That giant dog that came to school today kinda kidnapped him. I think. Anyway, we're going to go save him and everything so don't take it personally or something."

He left before she could get another word in. He hated this, having to cover for Kenny whenever he was throwing a bitch fit. He was so lucky that it was "bros before hoes" and not the other way around.

Just come on, what was so bad about being licked by a three-headed dog? That didn't give you a reason to run home screaming like a little bitch.

By this point in time, Stan had completely forgotten about his friend's death as a supernatural force wiped his memory clean and replaced it with something else.

Thus when Kenny woke up that next morning, he would be so pissed off when he was asked why he ran off like a pussy instead of, you know, being eaten alive by acidic dog drool.

* * *

Kuran Montri: **O.o-Fox-fire-o.O**


	11. Date Night

Author's Note: I'm not gonna lie, this chapter was slow going. I don't know why but at some points it was like pulling teeth. Maybe it's because I'm losing motivation or it's the new game I've been playing but I've been doing things other than write. In fact, I spent almost a week not writing this. Hopefully I'll be able to muster up more enthusiasm in the future so in the meantime, here you go. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, horror

Date Night

It was the first weekend of the school year but Rod was not excited about it as most everyone else was. If anything, he was more like a starving person denied a single crumb is what he felt like. Care to guess why?

What the hell kind of town had three headed dogs running around, tearing apart schools and cockblocking him? Really, there was some insane shit going on around here. Normally he wouldn't care about such things but when they cut him off from sex, then he had a problem.

A very big problem.

You see, Rod had a very powerful libido. No really, he did. It could be said that he thought more with his second head than he did with the one on his shoulders. In short, he was a normal, hormonal teenager who just happened to have a more powerful sex drive than others his age.

Basically, what he needed right now was a booty call; it didn't matter who or what it was, he needed some fucking satisfaction right the fuck now. He had delayed it as much as possible; any longer and whatever reputation he had at school would be gone, end of story.

Though, at this point, he could care less about it.

Still, mustering what little willpower he had left, he was going to roll the die one more time and try to convince someone to come home with him. Once they were behind that front door, he was confident he could talk them into anything, just like that Sunny. Hmm, speaking of Sunny, where was she? Eh, whatever, he had gotten what he wanted from her and that was all that mattered.

There was really no point in going after her again, especially since she would know what kind of tricks he would pull. And there were plenty of others out there who didn't and were prime for him to screw. You know what, let's go after one who'd be easy, someone he didn't need to work hard for and not cost a cent.

Devin was one who came to mind; in fact he was sure she was wetting herself waiting for him. Sure he was with her when that dog snuck up behind him and she was spooked to be sure, but really, it wouldn't be too hard to get her back. Then there were Brianna and Bonnie. Brianna wasn't quite where he wanted her but she was close and Bonnie, well, she was ripe for the taking.

Hmm, why not go for that fairy tale princess? He'd figured her out some time ago and knew she was looking for a white knight in shining armor to sweep her off her feet.

Too bad he was the kind of knight who wore a glass mirror instead of actual armor. She would see what she wanted to see in him and he would get exactly what he wanted.

No problem.

* * *

Gwendolyn was aggravated. No really, she was. She had been having a good morning and everything when the call came. Though, the call did have some good news to go with it, it was what was uttered into her ear the moment she answered.

"_Hey Wendy 2! A couple of my friends are going out tonight and bringing dates! Want to go out with them?_"

It was Stan and he was using that fucking name. Seriously, her name was _not_ Wendy fucking 2! Couldn't he get that through that thick head of his? Anyway, he sounded like he was talking about going on a double or triple date, one of the two. While she would have preferred to be _alone_ with him, you know, mono e mono, perhaps being out there with someone she knew would alleviate whatever irritation she might feel with Stan calling her by the wrong name all the time.

If she had someone else there she could talk to, she just might make it through the night without killing anyone.

"_Wendy 2? Are you there? I know, I know, it sounds pretty lame and you probably think I'm lame for talking about it and—_"

"Okay," she said hastily. "It sounds like fun."

"—_you'd think I'm gay for thinking it was a good idea and…wait, did you say yes?_"

"I did," she sighed. "Just tell me what time you're picking me up and where we're going."

"_Is six good?_"

"It's perfect," she said, starting to return to her good mood. "Where're we going?"

"_Uh…that's a secret_," Stan said quickly. "_It'll surprise you. So I'll pick you up at six and off we go, okay Wendy 2_."

And there her mood went south again. By then Stan had hung up but Gwendolyn was too pissed to notice, instead clinching the phone in her hand until it was close to cracking.

What was it she saw in him again?

* * *

"Wendy 2's in," Stan said as he put his cell down. "So what's the plan Kenny? Where are we going?"

"I don't know, pick some place," Kenny shrugged.

Stan frowned. "Hey, this is your idea," he argued.

"And the whole triple date thing is a ruse," Kenny retorted. "It's so that Damien doesn't catch on. Remember, we need to find out just what's going on between him and Kyle and this is the best way to do it. Besides, the last thing you want to do is piss off the Antichrist because he'll turn you into a fucking duckbill platypus and screw you over. Seriously, that wasn't fun."

"I don't know," Stan said thoughtfully. "I think it'd be fun being a duckbill platypus."

Kenny gave Stan a veiled look that obviously said "shut the fuck up ass". Dang, he never thought Stan would begin inheriting his father's stupidity this early. "Whatever you dream of when you're high," the blond instead said dismissively. "Focus with me Marsh, we gotta keep an eye out for anything that might make Kyle uncomfortable with Damien. Maybe we can get Kyle to break the thing off himself and that way, Damien can't blame us."

"What do platypuses even eat?" Stan wondered.

Kenny sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Goddamn it.

* * *

Bonnie blinked owlishly as she peeked out of her front door, watching the figure on the motorcycle in confusion as she wondered what was going on. The vehicle in question was placed right in front of her house and the driver was looking straight at her house, or more like at her as if he had been waiting.

A few seconds worth of staying allowed her to figure out that it was Rod who was out there and as soon as she realized this, she began to wonder what he was doing in front of her house at this time of day. It was the middle of the afternoon…and how did he know where she lived anyway?

Rod waved at her, gesturing for her to come over. She looked from side to side, as if suspecting an ambush but finding none. Steeling her nerves, she crept out of her home and made her way over to Rod who was giving her a dazzling smile with those pearly whites of his.

"Rod?" she asked out loud. "What…what are you doing here? Why are you in front of my house? How do you know this is my house?"

"I didn't think you had forgotten this soon," Rod shrugged his broad shoulders. "My house is right next door. We've been neighbors this whole time but never have we gotten together as them."

"Wow," she said, unable to come up with any kind of reply to that. "But what brings you here now?"

"Saw you come home yesterday looking sad and I thought why not do something to cheer you up?" Rod answered, his green eyes glowing with a gentleness that made Bonnie's heart beat faster. "What d'ya say we go out and see a movie or something? Get something to eat?"

"Are you asking me out on a date?" she asked slowly.

"If you want it to be one, then it can be," Rod told her earnestly. Looking her up and down, he added, "How 'bout you go back inside and change into something more comfortable? We're friends, right?"

Bonnie bit her lip, thinking about what Rod was asking of her. Should she accept and go out with him? He was kinda right that she was feeling a bit blue, especially after hearing about how her crush Kenny had asked Brittany Love out for a date. She had always hoped it would have been Kenny who would have swooped in and rescued her from a loveless life, a dashing Prince Charming that would have turned her otherwise dull life upside down and shown her what it was like to experience true love.

Instead, she found Rod taking Kenny's place and instead of a white, noble steed it was a black, metal motorcycle that rumbled softly underneath the dark-clad boy giving her the offer.

What should she do?

Coming to a decision, she nodded and said, "I'll be right back." Turning towards her home, she marched back into the building with purpose, her destination being her room.

She did not see the glint in those green eyes that watched her every move like lion about to pounce on a zebra.

* * *

"Why the hell are we going to watch _Just Go With It_?" Stan asked almost in a whining tone. "Isn't that some kind of romantic comedy?"

"Number one, Stan, is that Cartman won't be there to watch it and screw up everything," Kenny explained to the jock while Brittany Love and Wendy 2 were busy getting the tickets. Kyle and you-know-who hadn't shown up yet and Kenny was getting quite anxious about it. The longer the Antichrist was not in his sight, the more uneasy he became.

"How do you know Cartman won't be there?" Stan demanded.

"It's an Adam Sandler movie," Kenny replied dismissively. "Cartman wouldn't be caught dead in a movie theater watching an Adam Sandler movie."

"Huh? Why?" Stan asked, not getting what the blond was pointing out.

"Adam Sandler is Jewish."

"Aren't most people in Hollywood Jewish?"

"Adam Sandler is the most blatant."

"Oh!" Stan said, his eyes lighting up as he got it.

"Yeah, oh," Kenny deadpanned, taking a moment to give Stan a look.

"Oh, what?"

Startled, Kenny turned around as casually as he could, trying to make it seem like he hadn't gotten his hand caught in the cookie jar. As if having popped out of thin air, there stood Kyle and Damien, Kyle somewhat behind the Antichrist as the black-clad hellspawn stared at the blond coolly. With the light of the sun hovering over the horizon, Damien looked paler than ever, almost to the point you could see the various veins in his body just beneath the skin.

Thankfully, for Kenny's sake, Stan piped up. "Kyle! Man, it's great you could make it!"

However, it wasn't Kyle who answered but Damien. "My pet wanted to spend time with his friends and this is only a gesture of trust between me and him. I'd like to warn you right now that any touching will result in me sending you straight to Hell where my father's minions will ram coconuts up your ass for twenty-four hours, afterwards of which you will be thrown into a room full of cacti and be forced to listen to whiny protest songs from the 60s. Do we have an understanding?"

"Damien!" Kyle complained. "You promised you would be nice!"

"This is me being nice," Damien answered, his narrowed red eyes sliding lazily to a side to eye the Jew.

"He's just joking," Kyle huffed, turning towards Kenny and Stan and giving them a small smile. "He won't really do that stuff."

"Would you like to bet on that?" Damien asked idly.

"What's with all the tension?" Kenny interrupted, giving one of his charming smiles to try and lighten the mood. "We're just a bunch of friends having a good time and going out on dates. Let's just have fun and let whatever happen, happen? Sound good?"

"That sounds great," Kyle answered brightly. "So what are we going to watch?"

"Kenny wants to see that _Just Go With It_," Stan answered, rolling his eyes.

"Adam Sandler? I love him!" Kyle exclaimed.

Behind him, Damien scowled and looking to a side, grumbling, "Fucking Nicky," under his breath.

"Guys, we got the tickets!" Wendy 2 announced as she came up to them, showing the tickets off as if she had gotten a hold of the latest issue of whatever girl magazine girls read these days. The guys had no clue what was "in" with girls but they figured it would be best that they didn't know.

They were still trying to figure out what the sparkles meant.

* * *

A dark theater was typically a teenager's paradise as it was dark and people weren't paying attention to you so you could make out with a certain significant other without being bitched at. At least, that's what Kyle came to understand about it.

To his left sat Kenny and his date, Brittany. Kyle didn't have to look at them to know that Kenny was putting the moves on the girl and she was enamored, no doubt about it. Out of all the people he knew, Kenny McCormick was the smoothest person around who could sweet talk a girl into almost anything. There were times when he thought the blond overacted the pervert role of his and only hearing the soft whisperings of the blond was enough to make that conclusion more believable.

To his far right were Stan and Wendy 2—er, Gwendolyn. Gwendolyn had her head resting on Stan's shoulder, Stan himself leaning his head against her and occasionally pecking his lips against her forehead, a hand holding hers with the fingers intertwined. It was at times like these that Kyle could see what girls saw in the jock. When he wasn't being crude, being a pussy, or overreacting, Stan was sweet and doting. Maybe a bit too doting in the case of Wendy, Wendy Testaburger that is, but hey that was part of his charm.

Now to his immediate right, in the seat right next to him, sat Damien who conveniently had an arm resting on his thin shoulders. The Jew could feel the unnatural heat that the Antichrist emitted and while it was nice to feel during a cold night, it was not cold in the theater and was thus plain uncomfortable. Damien, though, didn't seem to notice this and instead pulled the Jew closer to him.

Kyle sighed to himself; there was no use fighting and besides, who'd have thought that the Antichrist was a cuddler? Seriously, whether he would admit it or not, Damien was a cuddler. He liked to cuddle things, which explained the stuffed voodoo dolls that he had found in Damien's room down in Hell. Most kids had stuffed animals; Damien had voodoo dolls complete with pins and needles.

Getting away from that topic, Kyle did his best to try and pay attention to the movie in front of him but that was easier said than done. No, it wasn't because the movie was bad or anything; there was a guy up near the front who booed and hissed at the screen whenever Adam Sandler was on. Damn that guy was annoying; he would throw popcorn up at the silver screen and ruin lines by saying crude statements in place of the original one.

Frankly, it was making it hard to enjoy and if he wasn't being semi-restrained by Damien, he would have stomped down there and given that asshole a piece of his mind.

"Go get a real job!" the asshole screamed at the movie screen. "Stop boring us with your pathetic excuse for acting! Everyone knows Jews can't act!"

Wait a minute, that sounded familiar. He didn't need to look to know both Stan and Kenny had sat up straight as if they two recognized something was odd. Beside him, Damien shifted, more than likely catching on to the tense atmosphere around them. Kyle could feel the devil's spawn tighten his arm around his shoulders and lean in closer to him.

"Is something wrong, my pet?" the dark prince whispered into his ear. "Does it have to do with that obnoxious sinner down there?"

"He just sounds familiar," Kyle admitted. "For some reason, he reminds me of—"

"Cartman!" Stan shouted at the asshole down below who spun around in his seat just as the screen lit up for a daytime scene, revealing that it was indeed the Anti-Semitic himself.

"Oh…God…damn it," Cartman swore as he stood up suddenly and rushed out of the theater as if he had just been caught looking at gay porn. There was some clapping as the fatass escaped, several movie-goers ecstatic that they could now watch without being bothered by a fat heckler.

For some reason, Stan shot a look at Kenny, a look that Kyle was unable to figure out though Kenny did look contrite. Must have been something between them or something.

"Don't fret," Damien whispered into his ear, his forked tongue light grazing against his earlobe and sending a shudder down Kyle's spine. "I'll deal with him later."

Oh, Kyle had no doubt that Damien would deal with Cartman. No doubt at all.

* * *

Rod did not like Adam Sandler. The guy was a fucking typecast and really, once you've seen one, you've seen them all. When the movie had begun and that asshole in the front began ripping on it, he had enjoyed it.

He hadn't gotten involved because he could tell that Bonnie was put off by it and there was no way he was screwing up his chances for something action tonight.

When it turned out that the asshole yapping at the mouth was none other than that dick Cartman, well that just put a damper on things. There was no way he was going to admit that he agreed with the fat bastard on anything unless he could get something out of it. Once Cartman was gone, though, he had to suffer in silence though the chick at his side was a plus.

It was a plus that got bigger when Bonnie leaned her head against him, using his chest as a pillow and he knew that he was closer to getting some.

* * *

As a matter of principle, Stan didn't enjoy the movie. It was like guy code not to like romantic comedies, no matter who the hell was in them. That and he didn't see Wendy anywhere so that he could put his plan with Wendy 2 in action.

All in all, Stan was not a happy boy.

Now, when Kenny had suggested going out on a triple date or whatever the hell this thing was, he had expected going to eat in a nice place. You know, nicer than Shakey's. It wasn't like the place was dirty, it was actually pretty clean, but it was just, you know, it just wasn't the place that was made for romantic dates.

Kenny mentioned that the place was cheap but Stan wasn't completely sold on the idea. Who cares about cheapness when you're trying to show your fake girlfriend a good time? The only people who used Shakey's for a place to eat on a date were old people who were feeling very adventurous or little elementary schoolers who just happened to get enough cash to afford it.

They were fucking high schoolers; it was the principle of the thing.

"My, we're really going all out, aren't we?" Kyle asked dryly as they entered Shakey's, Kenny leading the group to the nearest booth as quickly as he could.

"You know me man, always strapped for cash," Kenny shot back.

"You know, if you needed it, I could have lent you some," Stan told him as he took a seat, Wendy 2 sitting down next to him. "I don't think that Italian place is too far from here."

"Stan, you know I don't like owing people anything," Kenny told him calmly. "Though, if it's a girl I might be willing to stretch myself," he added as he eyed Brittany slyly.

"Behave!" Brittany laugh, patting/slapping Kenny on his shoulder.

"Last I heard, you owed some people in high places your soul," Damien said flippantly.

Kenny shot a glare at the Antichrist. "Alright, no one human, how about that?" he said snappishly.

"Kenny, don't," Kyle said warningly.

"Kyle, I'm not that stupid," Kenny rolled his eyes.

"I don't know about that," Damien replied. "You've had repeats of certain incidents, some of which were so obvious you had to be blind not to see them coming."

"Damien!" Kyle complained. "You said you were going to be nice!"

"And I thought we too covered that," Damien said to the Jew.

"And why haven't we've been served yet?" Kenny picked up, hoping to change the subject.

"We just got here," Brittany pointed out to him.

"Yeah? Well, why hasn't anyone come to wait on us?" Kenny rephrased.

"Because the service at Shakey's is horrible," Kyle deadpanned.

Ah yes, Stan thought to himself. That was another reason why not to go to Shakey's when on a date; the service was shitty but you didn't dare let the employees hear you say that as they'd do something to your food and you wouldn't know about it until it was too late.

God, why did he still come to Shakey's?

"If it's that bad, maybe I can do something to entice them to work harder?" Damien suggested.

Snapping his head around, Kyle gaped at Damien. "Are you going to do what I think you're going to do?"

"Already did it," Damien said dismissively.

A shadow fell over their table and the five mortals there looked up at a zombie-fied waitress who had a similar appearance to one of the Deadites from _Evil Dead_. It was horrible yet awesome at the same time to look at.

"May I take your soul?" the possessed waitress asked, her voice rasping yet shrieking at the same time.

"Not today," Damien said authoritatively. "Also you have the phrase wrong. Say it again or you won't be coming out of the eternal hellfires for a few millennia's."

The possessed waitress seemed to struggle for a bit before finally asking, "May I take your sss…your sss…your sss-order?"

"Better," Damien praised.

While everyone else was too terrified to say anything (Stan wouldn't admit that he was on the verge of pissing himself), Kyle gathered his wits enough to order for them.

"Yeah, I think we'll just have an extra-large pizza," Kyle said. "…make that two."

"What would you like on your pizza?" the possessed waitress asked. "Your soul?"

"Maybe next time," Kyle said hastily. "We'll just have pepperoni…unless someone else wants something different."

When no one answered, Damien took it upon himself to give them motivation, his eyes eerily glowing red. "He asked a question."

"Oh no, pepperoni's good," was the general consensus as none had the nerve to object to the choice, as if they feared denying Kyle his pepperoni would result in them having their souls cast into eternal hellfire.

Stan only went with the flow because he really needed to use the bathroom and agreeing was the quickest way he could do this. No really, that was the reason. …okay, maybe he too was scared of being damned forever but you would be too if this was happening to you.

"Would you like a side order of your soul?" the possessed waitress asked.

"What did I just say?" Damien snapped, sending the waitress scurrying away. "Damn Deadites. They are forever suckage when it comes to anything not involving souls."

Stan slowly stared at Damien who traded him look for look until the jock finally got it into his head that he needed a breather. "I'm gonna hit the can," he excused himself, or at least tried to.

It wasn't because Kenny suddenly perked up and began to badger Kyle into going with him. No, it was Wendy 2 who had clamped her hand onto his arm and didn't look like she would be letting go anytime soon.

"Don't leave me with him," Wendy 2 hissed at him, her eyes darting nervously over to where Damien sat.

"Sorry," he told her apologetically, "but it would be weird to bring a girl into the guy's restroom." He managed to slip his arm out of her grip, much to Wendy 2's dismay, and managed to make his way away from the table in the relative direction that he knew the restrooms were.

It was only after he had entered that he had realized he was being followed…by Kenny and Kyle, the former of whom was practically dragging the latter behind him.

"Kenny! I thought I told you I didn't need to go!" Kyle exclaimed at the blond, scowling.

"Hey, relax," Kenny said soothingly. "We're all friends here and…Stan? Where are you?"

Stan answered with a stream of piss hitting the porcelain sides of the urinal he was at, practically groaning at the sense of relief he felt.

"Oh, oh, that is so mature Stan," Kenny grumbled at him.

"When you gotta go, you gotta go," Stan replied as he let out a sigh.

"You were saying?" Kyle interrupted, looking pointedly at Kenny.

"Oh! Right. Well, we're all friends here," Kenny began from where he had left off. "We're just a bit worried about you Kyle. We haven't…really been hanging out a lot lately."

"Yeah," Stan agreed as he finished up and gave a courtesy shake. "You don't know that I got an invite from that guy from Halo who keeps pwning everybody. He wants to be on a team with me."

"I'm sorry guys but things have…wait, really?" Kyle said, stopping midway to address the most pressing of issues. "You mean that asshole sent you an invite and wants to play with you? Dude, sweet! You gotta introduce me sometime!"

"Start hanging out with us more and I will!" Stan told him enthusiastically.

"Stan, we aren't trying to bribe him!" Kenny scolded.

"I'm not bribing," Stan defended. "I'm enticing Kyle to get back onto Xbox Live."

"Wow, I didn't know you knew that word," Kyle said blandly.

"I've been studying," Stan said proudly.

"Where do you find the time?" Kenny found himself asking before he gave himself a mental bitchslap so that he could get back on topic. "Never mind, Kyle, we want to know how you feel about Damien. Be honest."

"Way to come from left field," Kyle deadpanned.

"I try," Kenny retorted.

Kyle sighed before looking away from the two. "I don't really know. There are times where I find myself scared shitless around him, walking on eggshells but then there are times where I feel like I can just hang around him as if he was an ordinary guy, you know?"

"Anything else?" Kenny pressed.

"Well…he must have some kind of super libido or something because he can go all night and then some and I find myself unable to walk for a couple days—"

"Dude!" Stan exclaimed, covering his ears. "Too much information, man!"

"A super libido? Really?" Kenny asked, intrigued.

"Ever felt paralyzed from the waist down?" Kyle asked. "That's what it's like."

"Kyle! What did I just say!" Stan wailed.

"Sorry dude," Kyle said apologetically.

"Okay, outside of sex, do you like this guy?" Kenny asked, placing a hand on Kyle's shoulder. "Do really feel like you can spend the rest of your life with a guy who just possessed the entire workforce of Shakey's with Deadites?"

"It's not like I have a choice…" Kyle said softly.

"Kyle, if he's holding you against your will or forcing you to go out with him, you shouldn't be dating him," Stan pointed out. "It's all the hallmarks of an abusive relationship. Dump the guy and get out of there before you get in too deep."

"Inspirational," Kenny applauded.

"I don't think I should be taking advice from a guy putting himself into a cliché situation," Kyle deadpanned.

"What's that suppose to mean?" Stan frowned.

"Cool it Stan," Kenny cautioned. Stan, though, crossed his arms over his chest defensively and his scowl deepened. Here he was trying to offer help and what does Kyle do but throw it back into his face. What a douche. "We're both concerned about this," Kenny faced back to Kyle. "From what you're telling us, it isn't good. You gotta get out of there man."

"Don't you think I would if I had the chance?" Kyle snapped back, fury in his eyes. It was a familiar sight and Stan felt warmth growing in his chest at the familiarity. That fury didn't stay long as Kyle sighed and shrunk slightly. "But now…I don't think I want to anymore. I don't know why, I just feel so comfortable with how things are now. I mean, Damien doesn't put any impossible tasks on me or beat me or anything."

"Are you saying you have that Swedish Syndrome?" Stan asked.

"Swedish Syndrome?" Kenny asked, frowning at Stan.

"You know that thing where if you stay around a kidnapper too long you start liking them," Stan said.

"I think you mean Stockholm Syndrome," Kyle clarified.

"Yeah, Kyle does sound like he has it," Kenny agreed.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "I don't fucking have Stockholm Syndrome."

"How would you know?" Stan challenged. "You used to be afraid of him—"

"To a degree I still am," Kyle interrupted, "but I think that's because of the evil that radiates from him. He's the Antichrist, remember? He's evil incarnate. Instinctively I would be afraid of him."

"And don't you think your instincts are trying to tell you something?" Kenny pressed.

"Well, yeah," Kyle admitted, "it's telling me you've left your dates out there with him for too long."

"Oh crap," Stan swore.

* * *

"Now be honest," Damien told the two girls. "I've always wanted to know this. What is it that women want?"

Brittany and Gwendolyn shared a look with one another. While they didn't really hang out with one another at school, dangerous times always brought together the oddest of pairs. So it was this odd pair that found itself having to entertain a highly volatile demon that looked like he would murder your parents and not give a shit.

"Why are you asking us this?" Gwendolyn protested, not comfortable with the line of questioning.

"Because it might help me understand my father," Damien replied, propping his head with the palm of his hand, his elbow set on the table. "I sometimes wonder where his estrogen flares come from. Now spill."

"I guess all we want is to be happy," Brittany answered hesitantly.

"Really," Damien said. "So what makes a woman happy?"

"Uh…well," Brittany said hesitantly.

For some reason, Gwendolyn had the feeling that no matter what answer they gave, it would not satisfy the guy's curiosity.

When the hell were those guys going to come back?

* * *

"Why don't you come inside?" Rod suggested as he came to a stop in front of his house. "It's still early and you live right next door."

Bonnie bit her lip in hesitation; for some reason, it felt like this whole night was one big betrayal. It was a betrayal of who she was, a betrayal to Kenny, the person she had watched from afar for so long, and just a betrayal in general.

Yet at the same time, she wanted to stick to the side of her neighbor, the new guy who had come into town from out of the blue and was directing all his attention onto her. It felt nice being the one pursued for once and she was enjoying it. So when Rod asked that question, she immediately wanted to say yes but stopped only because her home literally was in sight. Just the sight of her house reminded her of who she was and what her hopes and dreams were and so she had to stop and think on it.

She had been so sure just a second ago but now there were so many doubts running through her head. What should she do?

Meanwhile, Rod was pulling his bike into the driveway, turning it off and sliding the key out of the ignition. He was doing this only to keep from getting impatient. What was taking her so long? It was a simple yes or no question.

Feeling eyes on him that he knew didn't belong to Bonnie, he subtly searched for their voyeur and spotted a flash of pink a ways down the street. Sunny was walking by, Rod knew it in his gut.

And she was watching them.

He slid an arm around Bonnie's shoulders, saying, "It's only for a few minutes. I can get you something to drink or maybe make you a late night snack. How about it?"

He was winning, he could tell by looking at Bonnie's face. She was still divided but she was leaning towards his side and all he needed to do was give one last push and she would be his.

This was not the time to fuck up, not when he was so close.

"I know you don't trust me very well," he sighed, slightly melodramatic. "I'm new here and everything but you know, I'm kinda lonely. I mean sure, some people go out their way to help me but they don't like me enough to invite me to just hang out with them, you know what I mean? Everyone has their friends, it's senior year, and no one's going to want to give me a chance. I'm always on the outside looking in, you know?

"Sometimes, I guess you could say that I'm on the other side of a…a glass wall I think. Everyone is on the other side and it's like I can see them…"

"…and they can't see you," Bonnie surprisingly finished up for him. "You just want to give them the world, anything so that they will look straight at you…"

"…and smile," Rod finished from her, doing his best not to smirk. "They'll smile and ask you what they thought they were doing, looking everywhere for…"

"…for love," Bonnie continued, "for that moment when they realize you've been there all the time, waiting for them to give a look. To say that they should have looked at you first…"

Bingo.

Rod knew he had her; he was guiding her to the front door and everything and she hadn't realized a thing. He probably didn't have to be so underhanded but then again, he was not going to risk it. Once he got her through the front door, it was over.

He let his shoulder slump a bit and gave her a sad smile. "I guess we understand each other better than we thought. Would you…would you like to come inside? It's warmer in there than it is out here…"

"Alright," Bonnie finally agreed.

Yes. He unlocked the front door and led her in past the point of no return. As he was closing the door, he saw Sunny again, this time closer and more obvious in staring right at him. He gave her a wicked smirk and shut the door, sealing Bonnie's fate.

* * *

The three boys barreled out of the restroom, intent on saving the girls from whatever inhuman torture Damien was subjecting them to.

Well, actually, it was more like Kenny and Stan were barreling out and Kyle was being dragged behind them. Kyle noted this but did nothing about it mainly because he believed his friends were overreacting. He hadn't intended on panicking them but hey, shit happens.

"Wendy 2! Are you alright?" Stan practically howled as he reached the table.

Both of the girls looked up at him, each holding a slice of pizza in their hands, a string of cheese stretching from the slices to their mouths. Huh, had they really been in the bathroom that long?

Tearing the string of cheese away from her mouth, Gwendolyn said, "Just peachy. Why?"

"Thank God!" Stan said in relief. Kyle had a foreboding sensation welling up within him at that point because he had a crazy idea that Stan was about to stick his foot in his mouth. "I thought you had been tortured and were being dissected or something because that evil asshole eats only human flesh and likes to drink blood! You're just perfectly fine, just like I left you."

"You can say that again," Kenny agreed softly, his eyes trained solely on Brittany.

"You know, I'm right here," Damien spoke from where he sat, not a slice of pizza near his person.

Kyle knew this would happen; he should have gagged Stan when he had the chance.

"You haven't possessed either of them, have you?" Stan accused, narrowing his eyes at the Antichrist.

"Of all the people in the world, why would I want to possess your girlfriend?" Damien retorted. "Besides, I'm already taken, thank you very much you mortal twit."

"Oh? You want to get it on?" Stan challenged, standing straighter and squaring his shoulders, his hands balling into fists.

Kyle rubbed the temples of his forehead; really, he should have seen this coming. However, before he could try to say anything to avert the impending disaster, something strong grabbed him from behind and pulled him backwards.

"Your soul!" a Deadite chef roared into his ear, "I will eat your soul!"

Aw shit.

"Kyle!" Kenny exclaimed, making a move to go to his aid.

"What did I tell you!" Damien roared as he rocketed up from his seat. "Are you risking eternal damnation?"

"I'm already damned! I don't care!" the possessed chef shrieked back. Damn it, did he have to yell in his ear? He didn't want to be fucking deaf before age 20; he liked being able to hear things.

Damien's mouth opened wide and out came a loud, feline roar. The tiled floor beneath their feet began to crack and shatter, eerie red light pouring out from them.

A second later, everyone in town heard an explosion as Shakey's ceased to be.

* * *

Kenny was still spewing smoke from his lungs as he led Brittany back to her house. Well so much for trying to pull an intervention with Kyle, this whole fucking date was ruined. He had no idea what was going on through Brittany's head but she had been silent the entire walk back to her house, her face blackened with scorch marks from the blast.

Scratching the back of his blond head, he let out a sigh and said, "I'm sorry about tonight. It didn't get close to how I wanted things to go. I'd understand if you don't want to talk to me for a while."

Brittany said nothing but she did come to a stop, Kenny not figuring this out until he realized he was all alone and turned around to see if she was near.

Brittany had a look on her face, as if she was thinking about something intensely and was trying to hold back from doing something she knew she would forget. Kenny waited for her to say something, anything, dreading the hurt his ego was about to go through.

Finally, she exhaled loudly and some of the tenseness she was displaying faded away. She looked him dead in the eye, her purplish-colored ones boring straight into his blue ones.

"Things…happen," she said slowly, as if trying to convince herself to believe what she was saying. "It's not your fault. It's no one's fault. Things happen."

"Yeah, they do," Kenny agreed, still waiting for the other shoe to fall.

"Maybe…next time we can just go by ourselves," she said, her voice almost cracking but getting stronger with each word she spoke. "I really like you Kenny, I do. We have plenty of time to get it right, right?"

"We do," Kenny said, slightly put off on hearing her confession but not about to do anything that might make her hurt even more than she already did.

"You could come inside, you know," Brittany said. "Get cleaned up so you don't have to go home looking like you got out of a war, you know? I'd like to spend some more time with you."

Kenny smiled at her warmly, thanking God privately that this was going better than he had thought it would. "Thank you, Brittany," he told her frankly. "I would like that. I really would. It's not often someone lets me clean up at their house and it means a lot to me. Just…just thank you."

He drew closer to her and wrapped an arm around her, looking deep into eyes that had widened suddenly. He narrowed his eyes, letting those baby blue twinkle as he descended and claimed her lips in a soul shattering kiss.


	12. Skipping Ahead

Author's Note: I can safely say at this point, we are firmly in Act 2. How many acts there are, I don't know. Just going with the flow, people. Anyway, I know what's on your minds: where the hell have I been? One word answer: life. That's it, that's all y'all are getting. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Skipping Ahead

August came to an end and as it did, September rolled in though fall had settled in the small mountain town of South Park long before then.

The seasonal transition wasn't the only change, though; there were quite a few other changes seen in the town. A large one involved Kyle, in particular the company that he kept with the Antichrist. Since the blowup at Shakey's, Damien had yet to surface and there had been no communication to the Jew either. If anything, the sudden lack of Damien depressed Kyle though he wasn't able to see it that way. He just felt lonelier than anything, what with his friends going out with their girlfriends and not having time to hang out anymore.

A good thing that came out of it was that he found himself getting better acquainted with Gary the Mormon who was always ready to shoot some hoops. The guy was improving in his game, Kyle would admit, but he still wasn't near Kyle's level.

Meanwhile, on Stan's end things weren't going the way he had hoped they would be. He had been finding more and more opportunities to flaunt his new relationship with Wendy 2 in front of his ex, Wendy, but his ex wasn't behaving in the way he had wanted her to. There was no jealousy that he could see, no attempts on Wendy 2's life that he noticed. If anything, she acting like she was happy for him. Happy! For him!

This wasn't the way it should be going. And don't get him started on Wendy 2. Sure she had a good rack and was nice eye candy but he was finding himself not completely sold on her. At first she was sweet and quiet though she always had this pissed look whenever he called her by her name. Now that some time had passed, he found that she was quite loud and outspoken and at times bitchy. It was like she was a combination of him and Wendy if they had a child together.

That made him view the Wendy 2 relationship as sick because when the hell was incest ever popular? At least there was the guy on Halo Reach that he usually played with. He found himself relating to him more than he did with his current girlfriend, not fake anymore because Wendy 2 had caught him saying that out loud once and had reamed him.

He probably should have thought this through before jumping right into it. When had he started acting like his father anyway?

Speaking of fathers, Sawyer was now looking for a new place to hole up in. His father was in deeper debt again and had wagered their house in what he had said was a "win-win" gamble. How the hell do you lose those anyway? Well his father had found a way and guess who was to blame? Not this fucking time, oh no. Sawyer was out in the market, i.e. finding someone he could mooch off of for a small amount of time until he could find himself a more stable place to stay.

Maybe this was a blessing in disguise but that would remain to be seen. For now, Sawyer found himself on the verge of homelessness. That is until Christophe got involved. Christ you should have been there; once Christophe had heard about what was going on, the badass had marched into his house and started packing anything of Sawyer's he could grab. His parents tried to stop him and Christophe bitch-slapped his father back to the Stone Age and tore his mother a new one, adding on that he would be getting in touch with Child Protective Services and let them in on the domestic situation.

It was really an empty threat since Sawyer was almost eighteen but his parents were dumbasses; why the hell would they know when the age of majority was?

And now Sawyer found himself living with this badass motha-fucka and not having to walk on eggshells. Well maybe at first he had but that was because he was still a little bit afraid that Christophe would kick him out on his ass if he did something wrong. After an incident involving Dr. James Dobson of Focus on the Family and some kind of sacrificial ritual that would give him the power to "make the world safe for heterosexual, Protestant families," Christophe tore that apart with Dobson ending up having seen better days, that is the guy was a radioactive skeleton that was boxed in a crate and sent away to some government storage facility where the purported re-mastered version of _Raiders of the Lost Ark_. Of course Christophe bitched at him for being stupid but he was still putting him up so perhaps it hadn't all been horrible.

Another lesson learned that was only to be forgotten an episode later…

Watching all this from a distance was Rhiannon who couldn't help but think of a time where Christophe would use to do such things for her. She was missing him and as he grew closer and closer to Sawyer, Rhiannon found herself yearning for the French mercenary to look at her and give that sexy smile of his that always sent her heart a fluttering. However, she felt too conscious about herself to approach him of her own free will and she did not have any excuse such as an insane asylum escapee trying to murder her.

And speaking of insane people, Charlie found her hands alternatively busy and empty handling Bain who was disappearing every once in a while. He was being secretive about it, not odd but at the same time discerning. There were only two kinds of activities she knew he would be doing that he would try to hide from her. One involved his usual stress relief technique of kidnapping and murdering and the other was stalking someone who had caught his interest.

All she could say for sure was that there was an additional spot in the obituaries. She had a theory that Bain was probably spying on the new kid whose name she kept forgetting, that prick who was a fucking player but had seemed to get the message to leave her alone. It wasn't that she worried or jealous or something. Why would she be jealous? No Bain was doing something and not telling her about and damn it, it really was driving her nuts, wasn't it?

Fucking great.

Who did that leave her with other than Kenny, who by the way had been stepping up his usual perverted activities lately. That and he was scoring more. No really, it was almost like he was getting nookie every night. She only knew this because he didn't hesitate to give her the gory details whether or not she was listening to him.

And that brings everything back to the center of the swirling storm that was growing in the town. Over the past couple of weeks, Rod had been establishing himself. He was friendly with both girls and guys now that the "Craig group" as it was called was speaking with him. He knew they were only being friendly because it pissed Stan Marsh off and how could he argue with that? Fucking asshole thought he owned the school or something.

Anyway, things were getting back to the way Rod had them back when he was in Oregon. That is to say, he was scoring on every other day than just twice a week which is how he liked things. Preferably he would have wanted it every night but he had found himself an unexpected rival in Kenny McCormick.

He hadn't cared much about the orange-clad blond but when the guy began cockblocking him, well things started to turn ugly. No one cockblocked him, no one! Well, except for that fucking three-headed dog but you couldn't have everything, could you? Back to the matter at hand, Rod had the feeling that he was going to have to do something about this asshole. It wasn't his style to be so direct but sometimes you had to do things that were out of character.

Never mind, let's go to what's more important: the chicks! He had banged Sunny, landed Bonnie with a little more effort applied, a few other girls whose names he could not remember and a repeat performance with Ms. Simpleton because she just happened to be in the right place at the wrong time. He had a small mental list of the ones he wanted to do next and right now he had three in his sights: Brianna, Wendy, and a new girl he knew as Charity.

Despite their first meeting, he soon learned more about Charity, like how she liked to do the least bit of moving possible or doing anything that required too much effort. She was essentially lazy and the way she had bitched at him last time had only been because of Death Con 1. Other than that, she was cute which was emphasized by how small she was. She was someone he could totally see himself banging but he was a bit leery about the braces she still wore on her teeth.

He had had too many experiences with metal mouths to last a lifetime.

Anyway, back on track here, he had Wendy almost where he wanted her but he was in no hurry with her. She was an interesting sort of shield between him and her ex and he was still somewhat entertained by how pathetic the ex was. It was like that guy couldn't get a clue.

Well, one person's stupidity was his gain.

Lastly, Brianna was ripe for the picking, he could tell. However, it was her status as a "bookworm" that kept him from pouncing. That was because he had too many fond memories involving bookworms and he had the feeling that he'd want more than just a one night stand with her. Two times at least, three tops, then he should be satisfied.

Now that he was becoming a star among the right circles, he was beginning to assert his dominance over his "territory" and was looking for other "exotic" prospects. If androgyny was what popped up in your head, you'd be correct. Despite all the girls he found around him, he always kept an eye out for the guy he knew as Christian Bates. Christian had this kind of "don't fuck with me" vibe, as if he wasn't impressed by much and you were included.

To be honest, he had tried to hit on Christian. What? Disgusted? Fuck you then, he didn't care. A piece of ass was a piece of ass, no matter whose ass it was. If it had a hole and wasn't nailed down, then it was open for some fucking. He would have his girls and he would have his guys for when he wanted to spice things up.

Hmm, maybe he should go see about giving his competition some of this. There was nothing quite as powerful as tying someone to your bed and making them your bitch.

* * *

While Rod went about his conquests and everyone else let themselves be absorbed in their own problems, there was one who sat back in the shadows, watching and becoming a shell of her former self.

By this time in Mid-September, Sunny was afflicted with what would be called clinical depression. Her grades were failing, her mood was perpetually down, and it was getting harder and harder for her to get out of bed just to go to the bathroom. Her mother was worried about her and whether he would admit it or not her brother was growing concerned.

It was concern that Sunny found she couldn't care less about. She knew for certain that neither of them understood what she was going through and could never get why she was feeling so sad all the time. Neither of them had someone tell them they loved you, had sex with you…then go on and ignore you like you didn't exist.

It hurt every time she saw Rod talking with another girl, always leaning close to them, hypnotizing them with those eyes of his. Even after all this time, it made her want to cry. What had she done wrong that made Rod like this? She had never figured that part out and still to this day she was trying to solve the mystery.

It was consuming her and her entire life. She had even begun to lose interest in horror movies, a sign that had her brother sitting right next to her and demanding to know what was going on. According to Thomas, it was one thing for her to sit around moping all day but it was another thing when she didn't giggle at the sound a human head made when it was crushed under a steamroller.

What had happened to her, he had asked. Why wasn't she being her quiet self anymore? Was someone bullying her? Tell him who it is, he'll beat the shit out of them!

Touching, yes, but not enough for her to tell him anything. It wasn't like he would understand anyway. People liked Thomas and he had a lot of friends; nobody talked to her, Sunny, unless there was something they wanted from her.

After almost an hour of attempted interrogation, Thomas finally gave up but before he left, he said something that sparked something in her.

"I don't know what the hell is wrong with you but if someone is messing with you, why don't you take a page from those slasher films and get some revenge? It'd be better than you sitting around like this all the time."

Take a page from her horror movies…now why was that so interesting to her? Why did it make her want to open up one of her DVD cases and watch one? And why was it that she was looking pointedly at movies where someone was getting revenge for being dumped or cheated on? Bullied and tormented? Nearly killed but surviving to punish those who had wronged them?

Over the past couple of days, she had sat out from school and done nothing but watch these movies and as she watched them, she began to notice parallels between her and some of the characters.

And that's when it hit her.

Her head snapped up as she finally figured it out. Rod was just like one of the characters from these movies, in particular the playboy that slept with anything that moved and dumped girls at a second's notice. They did what they did for one thing: sex. And Rod was acting just like them, flirting with every girl they saw, dumping those they were tired of…

Rod had only hung around her so that he could…he could fuck her!

It made her cry for the first hour after she had figured it out. She had been used so despicably and then tossed aside like she was nothing but trash. She was a victim, Rod's victim…but she would only be a victim as long as she let herself be one. Thomas was right, though she didn't want to admit it, she needed to take a page from the horror genre.

What did you do when someone did something horrible to you? Give them something even more horrible in return. You made them suffer, made them wish they had never been born.

She could feel the anger flowing through her veins, giving her the strength to get off her ass and to do something, something horrible.

It was just she didn't know what to do.

Sobering, yes, but she had a new lease on life. She had a goal: to make Rod's life a living hell…

…and what better way to do that than to bring a piece of hell to Rod?

There were only a few people she knew who might be able to help her and fortunately, she knew where to find them.

* * *

When school was out, these people could only be found in one place. Sunny knew, she had seen them at the same restaurant time and again whenever she passed by on her way to the video store. They would sit in the same booth, smoke and drink coffee, and lament on how much the world sucked.

"Would you look at this? A freakin' conformist with pink hair. She must think she's original or something."

Yes, she was willingly seeking out the Goth kids from school.

The Goth with red streaks in his hair he blew a puff of smoke at her even though the gaseous attack barely got halfway across the table but the fact remained that he had done it contemptuously. To a conformist. Yeah.

"Why are you looking at us, huh?" the Goth demanded. "Just take a picture already. It'll last longer."

She swallowed, her throat dry from her nervousness. She opened her mouth one to two times but never did a word make it through her lips. She closed her mouth and licked her lips, trying to do anything that would take her mind off the task at hand.

"Gosh, it figures you would freeze up for no reason," the fat Goth girl she knew only as Henrietta said, giving her a look of disdain. "What? You need a big, strong, conformist boyfriend to speak up for you? Spit it out already."

"I need your help," she managed to gasp out.

"You certainly came to the right place," the Goth with curly hair said, blowing out a stream of smoke casually. "We certainly know more about hair care than you seem to have. Get into a fight with a weedwacker and lose?"

Okay, this was just getting ridiculous. If she didn't need to talk with them, she would have left them alone to be hit by a bus or some shit because one of them managed to screw up Death's grand plan. No Sunny, you can do this. You know what you want, just ask it. Just put it into words and say it and don't take no for an answer! Sigh, easier said than done.

"Where can I find books on demon summoning?" she finally managed to blurt out, her cheeks reddening in embarrassment. Did she really just ask that out loud?

"Wow, you don't hear that every day," the curly haired Goth said. Turning to his fellow Goths, he asked, "What do you guys think?"

"There will be nothing but pain and torment for her," the red-streaked Goth said. "It'll be killer to watch."

"The world is a dark and hopeless hell in which we wade through the molasses of human filth and the conformity of the masses," the smallest Goth said as he seemed to stare out into space, as if seeing something no one else could see and not taking his eyes off the vision.

"Three out of five," the curly haired Goth said, his eyes turning onto Henrietta. "What about you?"

"Why'd you pan over to me?" she demanded.

"'Cause you always have the books on demonic possessions and summonings and shit," the curly haired Goth replied.

"Whatever," Henrietta retorted, rolling her eyes. "It won't be my problem is she summons something from the bowels of Hell. Who knows, she might bring something just as bad as Cthulhu only more badass. Or she'll bring something that'll validate what all the conformists say. I don't fucking care."

"Um, what are you guys talking about?" Sunny asked, completely lost.

"It's Goth-speak, something you conformists wouldn't understand," the red-streaked Goth answered. "Give her a fucking book so that she can leave us alone. She's making Kuran nervous."

"Fine," Henrietta grumbled as she pulled a black tome from a large bag she had sitting next to her. Sunny gazed at the dark book in awe and in horror. It looked like some of the stuff she had seen in her horror movies and now being in its presence, she felt what was the passion of her life envelop her in a sensation of reverence.

Had she unknowingly entered into one of her horror movies without knowing?

"Can I speak with you in private?" the Goth known as Kuran spoke up immediately. The boy had set down his ever present sketchbook on the table, the cover closed on it keeping the drawings within out of sight.

"Something wrong?" the red-streaked Goth asked, worry in his voice for the boy when it had been nothing but contempt for Sunny.

"I'll be right back," Kuran muttered as he slipped around the older two male Goths and took Sunny's arm, leading her out of the restaurant. It was everything Sunny could do to keep her other hand on the book Henrietta had been holding, a snatching that Sunny wouldn't have normally done as she wasn't that brazen. Perhaps she was worried that if she didn't grab it now, she would never get it later.

"Rude, how conformist," Henrietta grumbled.

Sunny didn't have the chance to try and say thank you as Kuran was proving to be stronger than he looked as he dragged her out of the restaurant and took her out of sight of the other Goths whose eyes had not left them.

Coming to a stop, Kuran released her but he shifted his weight from leg to leg as if he was completely uncomfortable with what he was doing. For some reason, Sunny found her own anxiety leaving her like it was being given to Kuran who finally looked her in the eye, his eyes bland but at the same time commanding her attention.

"I know what you are doing," he said quietly, his voice so soft that Sunny had to strain her ears to hear him. "It wasn't right of him to use you like he did…but are you sure about this course of action? The others might not look like they care…and they don't…but what you're wanting to do, there can be no happy ending. For anyone. If you do it."

She wanted to believe that he was concerned about her but the last time she had thought someone had cared about her, she had let him handcuff her to a bed, screw her, then pretend she didn't exist anymore. She was tired of being a doormat for such assholes. Assholes like Rod who deserved a taste of their own medicine.

"I can tell that no matter what I say, you're still going to do it," Kuran sighed, looking down at his feet. Then out of nowhere, he asked, "What do you know of opposites?"

Okay, where was this coming from. She clutched Henrietta's book closer to her chest as if it was a lifeline to everything that made sense to her.

Continuing blithelessly, "Everyone has an opposite. You see, there's like a spectrum, one in which two people reside in. Both people have the same traits, the same personalities, the same everything…except they occupy opposite ends of the spectrum. A good version and a bad version I guess you could say.

"The best examples of opposites would have to be Kenny McCormick and Rod Woods. Essentially they are the same person: both are highly sexual, physically appealing, and generally people are attracted to them because of their charisma. The sole difference between them is how they go about fulfilling their needs. Kenny will use someone but he wouldn't dump them. He prefers to leave people on a good note and takes an interest into those who he has been intimate with. What I've noticed is Rod is the opposite; he not only uses people but drops them once he has gotten what he wants from them. Are you understanding what I'm telling you?"

To be honest, Sunny was lost. She wondered if Kuran was high and was just trying to reveal some bullshit trip that was giving him "limitless wisdom." Yeah, even in her own head she would admit that maybe she was being a bit harsh but hey, this was her not letting anyone walk all over her!

Still, she found herself asking, "Who's my opposite?"

"Butters," Kuran stated without hesitation.

"Huh?" she said so eloquently.

"You're both shy and naïve," Kuran explained, "introverts but also friendly, and you bottle up your emotions. Gradually they build up until you explode and let it all out at once. The difference between you and him is that Butters tried to fit in and ignores the hostility the other guys have for him. He's always the one to laugh hardest, always the one that speaks up with an idea even though it's a poor one and is always made into a scapegoat when shit hits the fan and he goes along with it even if it's to his detriment. You, on the other hand, stay true to your introverted self and kept to yourself. You don't need to or want to interact with others though there are times you really want to. You can't bring yourself to do so and instead convince yourself you don't need to. For a person like Rod, it makes you a big target as he can use you and dump you and be sure that you won't tell anyone because you keep to yourself."

Okay, that was a large chunk of information and while some of it hit close to home, Sunny wanted to deny some of it. She wasn't a target for assholes…was she? No, Kuran had to be pulling this out of his ass or from some hallucination he was having. Where was that masked killer or monster when you needed it because this was really becoming awkward.

For her, at least.

"Why are you telling me all this?" she asked, almost desperately. "What does it mean? I don't understand…"

"Everything. Nothing," Kuran answered grimly. "A warning maybe? Just…try not to lose who you are. And, while you are at it, be sure to dig two graves instead of one. That is the path that revenge will ultimately lead." His head tilted to a side, as if he heard something that she hadn't. "I need to be going. They'll be missing me enough to come looking by now. Think real hard about what you want to do…and be sure that you're willing to see it through to the end."

Sunny blinked, staring at Kuran's back as the uncharacteristically talkative guy headed back to the restaurant, scurrying to the building like a frightened mouse. It was completely different from the way he had dragged her out here that she almost couldn't believe that it was the same person.

But what did opposites have to do with anything? Was he just trying to confuse her enough that she would lose her nerve and give up? She didn't know but with her newfound resolve, she was not going to let it hinder her.

She couldn't let Rod get away with what he was doing; he had to pay.

At least, that's what her head told her. Her heart seemed to be screaming something else but she couldn't understand it. She was more inclined towards her gut which was always squeamish and when her gut didn't lead her, by default she went with her brain.

And her brain was telling her, quite clearly, what she needed to do.

* * *

The sound of two feet slamming onto asphalt and a ball thudding against it was all that could be heard as the two boys faced off against one another. Gary, the larger of the two was panting, though not as hard as he used to a couple of weeks prior, dribbling the ball and searching for an opening that his zealous opponent wasn't guarding.

Kyle, the smaller of the two, nimbly guarded against him, not letting the blond have any chance to shoot for the basket hanging ten feet off the ground behind him. While he was sweating like Gary, Kyle wasn't breathing as hard as he was more used to this kind of physical activity and knew how to use the least amount of energy for the maximum amount of effect.

The only thing Gary had over him was strength but in basketball, strength meant little to nothing as speed and hand-eye coordination were the more valuable assets here. Gary knew this and he knew that he was slower than the smaller Jew though hand-eye coordination was up for debate. Still, he would have to make up with what he lacked by getting this darn ball into that darn hoop and—

Before he knew it, Kyle had swooped in and snatched the ball, dribbled around him and made a three-pointer all before the Mormon was aware of it.

"And that's game!" Kyle declared, smirking at the blond who was now bending over, hands on his knees. "You're getting better."

"Still not as fast as you," Gary panting, sending Kyle a warm grin. "What do you eat, huh? I can barely keep up with you."

"The extra beans at lunch help," Kyle joked. "You never know when a little flatulence will come in handy and propel you that one inch you need to stay ahead of the competition."

"My manly sweat must be blocking the odor," Gary retorted lightheartedly. "I can't smell a thing."

"Silent but deadly, man," Kyle shot back. "It'll be hitting you any second now."

"I hope not. You'll have to call the mortuary to come pick me up because I am _this_ close to dropping dead."

"I thought you were athletic," Kyle said as he retrieved the ball. "Didn't you win the nationals once?"

"For wrestling," Gary answered. "Strength and stamina are what you need for that."

"And also for other things," Kyle jested winking at him.

Shaking his head, getting the subtle jab, the blond said, "Speaking of other things, how're things with Damien? Haven't seen him around recently."

At that, Kyle grew quiet. After a few minutes, he finally said, "I haven't heard from him since he blew up Shakey's. It's like he vanished off the face of the earth, something possible for him since his father lives in Hell and all."

"He must have gotten in some trouble," Gary pointed out.

"Oh, so kidnapping me and taking me to a place where he had his freakin' way with me in every way he wanted isn't enough?" Kyle deadpanned.

"You don't sound very resentful about it," Gary pointed out.

"I know," Kyle sighed. "To be honest…I kinda miss him. I…I don't know why but I'm always looking over my shoulder for something dark and unnatural…and I'm looking forward to it! I'm waiting for my body to freeze up and for something hot as an iron licking my neck and I'm disappointed each and every time…"

"You know, it sounds to me that you liked him," Gary pointed out to him.

Kyle looked like he was going to protest but Gary stared him down until the Hebrew's shoulders slumped and he sighed dejectedly. Gary smiled sadly at him and patted his shoulder comfortingly.

"What is it they say?" Kyle asked after a while of silence. "'Absence makes the heart grow fonder?'"

"Yeah, I think that's how it goes," Gary agreed.

"Fuck'em all, they were right," Kyle grumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest as best he could while holding a basketball. "God, I'm such a fucking sap. I'm moping all the time and…the guys don't want to hang out as much anymore."

"Huh?" Gary frowned. "What's going on?"

"It's nothing important," Kyle sighed, looking away with an expression of depression on his face.

"Tell me," Gary pressed gently. "What happened?"

It seemed like he didn't have to press hard as Kyle looked like he wanted to tell someone whatever it was that was on his mind. "It's never been like this," he confessed. "I mean, before, even when they had girlfriends, the guys always made time to hang out. Mostly. Except for Stan. But that was a long time ago. Anyway, they've been spending more time with their girls and hell, I can't blame them. Who would want to hang around with a guy who's down all the time?"

"You have a right to be sad," Gary told him, his arm stretching out to wrap around the Jew's shoulders and bring him into a one-armed hug. "I mean, the person you have feelings for is not here and you're all alone. That's not to say it's an excuse to be sad all the time but you deserve some slack. It hasn't been real easy for you, has it?"

"When is it ever?" Kyle rolled his eyes. "I swear, it feels like sometimes the whole world is trying to make my life a living hell or play some kind of humiliating joke on me."

"Try to think positively," Gary urged. "The whole world isn't out to get you. It's out to get other people who deserve it. Anyway, why don't you start talking with your friends more, see how things are going and go from there."

"Sounds simple enough," Kyle said, holding back a sniff. "Well, what do I have to lose besides more of my dignity? Thanks Gary. You know, it always seems like you're the one being all patient and kind…and I'm always taking and not giving a thing back."

"Hey, if something happens to me, I can at least expect a shoulder from you, right?" Gary said. "Besides, this is what friends are for. Just knowing there's someone there to help you when you're down, that's what it's all about. Now go on. Get out of here. Go find one of those guys and give them a piece of your mind."

"You are the most selfless person I have ever met," Kyle told him, a smile brightening his face. "Thank you Gary, just…thank you so much."

All Gary did was wave at him as the redhead left the court. As soon as Kyle was out of sight, Gary dropped his arms and slumped in on himself though it was more from lack of energy than anything else, like the weight of the world. Those basketball games were taking a lot out of him but not like it was when he had first started playing against Kyle. Besides, he enjoyed helping other people out, even if he got nothing else out of it.

It was just who he was.

He strolled out of the small park, going at a snail's pace as he was in no hurry to be going anywhere. It was a beautiful day, you know? Perfect for just walking around in; who knew how long it would last what with winter steadily approaching?

He was barely past the trees that circled the park when he came to a stop and looked to one of the trees in question. Leaning up against one was the dark-clad figure that he recognized all too well but unlike most people, he was not cowed or defensive about it.

He had been the one to approach Bain Cynis first and ask to be his friend.

"Hey Bain!" he greeted. "How long have you been there?"

Bain only grunted, not choosing to answer as he made a show of being too busy cleaning under his fingernails with a large hunting knife. Gary felt the odd sensation of fear that he knew everyone must feel at one time when dealing with Bain but instead of succumbing to it like most, he forced it back and continued to smile at the shorter boy. Who was he to judge someone on what other people thought of them?

Still, when he got no answer, he forced himself to say, "If you were here long, you could have joined us out on the court, you know? You didn't have to stand here in the shadows."

"You've been spending quite a bit of time with Mr. Broflovski," Bain said as he tucked his knife away, his heterochromatic eyes meeting up with his sky blue and capturing them in a spellbinding gaze.

If Gary didn't know better, he'd say the smaller guy was jealous but he did know better. Bain was probably just worried that he was losing a friend, that had to be it.

He smiled brightly and extended an arm out, ruffling Bain's disordered hair, Bain swiping his arm away though the blond didn't take any offense from it. "He's been lonely and going through a few problems," he explained nevertheless. "Who am I to deny him an ear and a shoulder?"

Bain stared at him, his different colored eyes boring into him as if searching for his immortal soul. Gary, though, was not cowed by it. He knew deep in his heart that the other was just insecure. Sure they didn't hang out much but every once in a while, they would though it would just be Bain walking beside him for a bit before going off to do whatever it was that he did.

"You know," Bain suddenly spoke up, "your kindness is your greatest virtue. It is also your greatest fault."

Gary blinked at him. "Fault? What's so bad about being nice?"

Bain smirked up at him and replied, "Always so unsuspecting. It makes you a target, my naïve friend. People will take advantage of it, use you until they don't need you, then toss you aside like you were nothing more than a piece of garbage."

"That's pessimistic," Gary commented. "So what?" he shrugged his shoulders. "The world would be a very cold place if I go around suspecting other people of having ulterior motives. If I get burned, it's no skin off my back. I tried my best and gave them what they needed to go on with their lives and to me, that's more important than jumping at every shadow, you know."

Bain raised an eyebrow at him, as if asking "Really?" but he said nothing in response to it. Instead, he looked away though Gary could swear he saw Bain's cheeks pinkening slightly. Aw, he was touched.

Still, he had to get a little jab in though there was no maliciousness involved whatsoever. "Worried?" he asked. "I can take care of myself, you know, no worries."

"Don't put words into my mouth," Bain snapped back, eyes narrowed.

Gary took no offense to that; he knew this was the guy's way of looking out for him. Gary had, after all, looked after him during his time of need and even though he had been knocked unconscious that one time, he didn't hold it against Bain. He didn't get involved with that freezing accident where everyone in school were turning into giant ice blocks.

And yes, he did not believe Bain had anything to do with it. It was just a freak accident that happened, that was all. There was no way in heck Bain could have orchestrated such a thing in so little time anyway.

A thought occurred to him and the Mormon knew he had to ask. "Do you not like Kyle?"

"He participated in cramming me into a trashcan," Bain deadpanned. "You tell me."

"You shouldn't hold onto grudges," Gary told him. "They take away all the fun in life."

"So you say," Bain drawled in response. "Still…speaking of grudges, I have a little project in the works. It would best be advisable to be nowhere near the warehouse district from, let's say, ten in the evening to two in the morning this night."

Okay, that was coming out of nowhere. "Are you involved in something illegal?" he asked.

"Don't worry your pretty little head over it," Bain chided him. "It has nothing to do with you; it would just be best that you don't be in that general vicinity at that given time is all."

"Is it drugs?" Gary demanded.

Bain gave him an incredulous look. "Like I would be involved in the drug trade," he snorted and looked away. "That's the pharmaceutical companies' domain anyway."

"Bain, I'm your friend. You know that, right?" Gary said, placing his hands on Bain's shoulders. "Whatever it is you are doing, don't. Just turn around and stop. You don't have to go through with it."

"And once again your kind nature shows through," Bain commented as he slid his hands upwards like he was going to pray but then parted them, his arms moving outwards until they connected with Gary's and pushed them away, Gary's hands sliding off his shoulders. "You're an oasis of benevolence in this hokey, errant town. Don't let anyone take that from you."

At this point, Bain had turned away and was heading down the sidewalk, away from the blond who remained in one spot, staring after him with an arm extended, as if wanting the other to stop. Slowly, Gary lowered his arm and looked down at his feet, wondering what he should do. Should he go after Bain and see what he was doing and possibly save him from doing something he was going to regret?

"By the way," Bain called out over his shoulder, "Ms. McCloud has been spending an inordinate amount of time indoors. Perhaps you should check into that."

Ms. McCloud? Oh right! Kyra! She had been spending a lot of time playing online games, pwning n00bs and whatnot and all in the name of getting close with Stan. Now he really had a dilemma; who to go after first? Bain or Kyra? It was looking like he was going to have go with the latter with every step Bain took away from him and by the time he came to a conclusion, the other guy was gone, out of sight.

Well…looks like he was going to have to pay Kyra a visit, huh?

* * *

Strobe lights flashed and extending through the air, forming a chaotic pattern that few if any could discern. UV lights gave off the impression of an otherworldly appearance and smoke from various joints lit up around the room intoxicated all who breathed it in.

All in all, it was a typical club and it was one that Rhiannon found herself in after being prevailed upon by Wendy and Roxi who wanted a night out on the town. Despite the funk she was in, what with being separated from the Sex God, she agreed to go because damn it, it was about time she found herself someone new.

Well…maybe not someone but at least something different other than continuing to mope around her house.

And what better way to do something different than go out to a place filled with alcohol and illegal drugs? Okay, maybe not that last one even though she thought she saw some LSD and ecstasy being passed around some time ago.

"Dude! The acid!" someone exclaimed in close proximity to her, his eyes dilated.

Beside them, someone added, "I'm trippin' balls man…I'm trippin' balls!"

Yeah…

She had spent quite a bit of time in the mosh pit that was the dance floor and only after sweating her ass off and doing what felt right with each beat from the loud sound system that pumped techno music, she was pulling herself out of it and searching for a spot where she could rest a bit. It's all fun dancing to the rhythm and making a fool of yourself but even the most manic of people needed to take a breather every once in a while.

It took her a bit but she eventually found a stool at the bar and it just so happened that Roxi was on the stool next to her, drunk out of her mind. Roxi looked like she was in a mood as she stared blearily at a half-empty glass of booze and for a second, Rhiannon wondered what was going on with the other girl. Her usually spiky hair was all frazzled and sticking up all over the place and she knew Roxi usually took better care of her mane than this.

"Can I help you?" the bartender asked her, interrupting her musings.

"Yeah…get me what she's having," she said absentmindedly, gesturing to Roxi. Proceeding to ignoring the bartender, she shook Roxi's shoulder. "Hey, what's going on with you?"

Roxi turned her bloodshot eyes from her glass and to her, not immediately recognizing the rainbow girl right away.

"Leave me 'lone," she slurred. "F-f-f-fuck off."

Okay, where did that come from?

"Roxi, it's me, Rhiannon!" she exclaimed, shaking Roxi's shoulder harder. "You know? Skittles!"

"I know who…who you are R-rainbow Bright!" Roxi said snappishly. "Taste the fuckin' rainbow, eh?"

"You're drunk Roxi," Rhiannon said disappointedly.

"I'm not drunk!" Roxi snapped back. "I'm…I'm purrfectly sssssober! I can s-s-stop anytime I want! It'ssss a free country! Go away!"

Looking up at the bartender, she asked, "Can you cut her off? I think she's had enough."

"You can never have too much alcohol!" the bartender said defensively, something Rhiannon did not expect. "It's bullshit what the attorney general says. Alcohol doesn't cause liver damage."

"You do know she's underage, right?" Rhiannon asked slowly.

The bartender blinked back at her.

The next thing she knew, both she and Roxi were on the other side of the club door, said door slamming shut right in their faces. Rhiannon stared incredulously at the door, Roxi slumped up against her with an arm slung around her shoulders.

"Fuck you too!" Roxi slurred at the door, raising her middle finger at it.

Rhiannon sighed as she shifted Roxi's weight against her. It looked like they were going to be spending the rest of the night out here waiting for the other girls to come out. "Come on Roxi," she sighed. "Let's get you to the car."

"I feel like I'm gonna throw up," Roxi gasped as one of her hands came up to her mouth.

Five minutes later, Rhiannon found herself patting Roxi's back as the brunette emptied her stomach of the alcoholic content within. How much had she had? Too much from the look of it.

"Why'd you get plastered?" she asked. "Did something happen?"

"Who does he fuckin' think he is!" Roxi suddenly yelled out, Rhiannon jumping back from the amount of venom she heard. "Fuckin' every fuckin' thing in sssight when I'm right here. What is wrong with me? Huh? WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME!"

"What…? Who are you talking about?" Rhiannon asked, clueless. This was the last thing she thought she would be doing tonight, comforting a drunk who was in the middle of some kind of breakdown. And it had to be Roxi too, didn't it?

"First, goodie two-shoes Love, then practically the whole cheerleading sssquad," Roxi sobbed as finally depression took over the reins. "Why hasn't he come to me, huh? Why not me?"

"Who are you talking about?" Rhiannon repeated though she was slightly on guard.

"Kenny!" Roxi practically shrieked. "You fuckin' whore! I'm right fuckin' here! Why are you in there with that ssssslut! I'm right here, God-fucking-damn it!"

So many F-bombs, Rhiannon didn't know how many more she could take. Wait, what was she thinking? She needed to be thinking about Roxi, not herself!

"What about Kenny?" she asked softly. "Was he in the club? What was he doing?"

"Sssssome bitch!" Roxi slurred and sobbed. "It looked like he wasssss fuckin' her on the fuckin' dance floor! Oh God, why?"

Oh. So it was true, Roxi did have a crush on Kenny. Wow. She kinda knew how she felt, what with Christophe looking at other guys… Yeah, maybe not the same thing but you know what, it was close.

"Let's wait at the car," she said as she hefted Roxi who by now was completely sobbing. "The others are going to have to come out sometime…"

It was a bit of a struggle getting Roxi to lean on her then move with her. Imagine having to do that and look for a car that you forgot where it had been parked. Yeah, not a happy task, you know? Ultimately she did find it but not after struggling through row after row of cars. How many people were here anyway?

Whatever…oh crud, she didn't have the keys to this thing. They were going to have to wait out here in the cold until the others came out. Great. Absolutely perfect. How else could this night go wrong?

As she set Roxi against the car hood, the brunette halfway unconscious and blacking out from all the alcohol she had consumed, something grabbed Rhiannon from behind and before she could do anything useful, like you know screaming for help, a smelly piece of cloth was covered her mouth and nose, forcing her to take a mighty whiff of it.

It was sad how she recognized it as being chloroform. How many times had she been abducted with this stuff by now? She was unconscious before her mind could give a name to her assailant but she didn't need to put a name to who it was.

She already knew…


	13. A Nightmare Only Gets Worse

Author's Note: I am taking some artistic liberties in this chapter. Some of those liberties involve the plot of Zephyr Morpheus Lee's _Hell's Babysitter_ which chronologically begins halfway through this fic. ZML, I hope you don't mind but this was at the spur of the moment. Lastly, ShadowMajin, if this is not up to your standards…too bad. I want to move on. As for the rest of you, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, violence, Chuck Norris

A Nightmare Only Gets Worse

It was the early hours of the morning when Wendy and Mari found themselves leaving the club and heading back to the car. Mari was drunk out of her mind and for some reason kept trying to make passes at Wendy, much to her displeasure.

Wendy, on the other hand, was only slightly buzzed but not enough that she was inebriated. She had been elected the designated driver but everything had happened so quickly in there and the next thing she knew she was downing shots. She could only hope that one of the others, whom they couldn't find, were still sober and waiting for them back at the car. As much as it seemed unlikely, especially since she couldn't find any of the others back in the club, she still hung out on that one hope.

She didn't want to risk getting into any trouble and having her almost spotless record tarnished by something like a DWI.

Reaching the car, she noticed that Roxi was passed out on the hood of the car, snoring nosily, with a small piece of paper taped to her back.

Balancing Mari against her, she picked up the note and read to the best of her impaired brain.

_Something came up_

_Had to go home_

_Take care of_

_Rhiannon_

Rhiannon had ditched them? And left Roxi here all alone defenseless? She didn't even bother to add Roxi name to the note! This was outrageous!

Ultimately, though, it did nothing to help her with two drunk girls, one of whom thought she was a guy or something. Fucking perfect.

* * *

Rhiannon knew by this point not to breathe with her mouth whenever she came out of consciousness. The key was through your nose since waking up with duct tape on your mouth made you panic. It's the whole not getting enough air factor that caused it and after being kidnapped enough times by Bain, it was becoming habit.

However, this time when she woke up, she had no tape over her mouth but did have the blindfold. It was Bain's way of messing with her; take away her sight or mouth or both or sometimes not at all and she would have to figure out which one it was.

Always the mind games with this fucker.

She felt like she had cottonmouth which was why she had to produce some spit to wet it up before she could make a sound that didn't sound like she was dying of thirst. She also didn't want to show him that he was getting to her, at least not yet. Once he started pulling out all his sharp, pointy objects, then it would be a good time to start panicking.

Not before, though. If Charlie could look him in the eye and break his nose, she could at least not panic for the first five minutes.

Easier said than done.

A hand clamped down over her mouth before she could speak a word though and she felt a warm body press up against her shoulder, as if Bain was using her like a prop.

"Awake?" she heard Bain's taunting voice ask. "Good, I was beginning to wonder when you were going to come to. We must be getting out of practice."

Bain left her, his hand slipping away but he made no sound. She thought she heard the sound of him pressing some buttons, like he was writing a text but really, who was she to believe he had anyone to text to? Nonetheless she heard what sounded like a cell phone snapping shut and a second later, her blindfold was removed. She kept her eyes closed and cracked them open ever so slightly. She was used to either finding herself in dark or well-lighted locations and knew that no matter where it was, you opened your eyes slowly. It was just in case; she wasn't looking to get blinded.

"Sorry for the wait," Bain said sarcastically as she noticed him walk out from her peripheral vision. "Have to make sure the 'missus' at home is not tracking me down. It would be a shame for her to interrupt us when this is the first time we've been together in quite some time."

Always the chatty one, wasn't he? She had noticed that while in school he said nothing, when he had her alone he was talking as if he had no off switch. Not for the first time she wondered whether or not he was bipolar. It would explain a few things.

"Thought I forgot about you, didn't you?" Bain continued, not letting her get a word in. "Really, a cunt like you should know better. You're alone, your bodyguard is no longer keeping vigil, and the only person who would willingly stand up to kick my ass is dating me. Really, it's the perfect storm and a perfect opportunity."

She couldn't help it; she felt a chill of fear travel up her spine. She knew in her gut that he was right. She hadn't been this vulnerable since she had first moved here all those years ago. Now that she thought about it, she was lucky to not have been attacked; she hadn't broken up with Christophe until after Bain had gotten his amnesia…which at the same time he was also responsible for making Christophe question his sexual orientation.

If she didn't know better, she would have thought he had planned this all from the beginning.

Doing anything to not look at the maniac, she took in her surroundings. Great, she was in an abandoned, dusty warehouse. There was hardly anything here other than the things Bain had set up and a tattered banner that laid on the floor, the words _La Resistance_ barely legible. Other than that, nothing, no sign that anybody came here regularly so there was no hope that someone would bust in at the last moment and rescue her.

Since when had she been reduced to being a fucking damsel in distress? Really?

"You know, I was really surprised about what I found here," Bain commented as he returned into the eyesight. She didn't like how he was just circling her, watching her every move and waiting to pounce like a wild animal. However, she paled as she saw the sword he held in his hand, his arm making practice swings with it. "I just found this here by that banner over there. What kind of dumbass would have left a perfectly good saber on the ground for anybody to pick up? It's like they want some moron to gut their self with it on purpose."

As if he hadn't needed anything else sharp and dangerous. Why did she have a sinking feeling that it was just going to get worse? She should be used to this.

"Why do you hate me so much?" she managed to cry out. "Why do you want to hurt me so much? Why?"

"Why should I tell you? You already know," Bain replied simply, staring back at her blankly.

She blinked. "Are you still pissed about…about that _fucking_ kiss? Is this what this has been about?"

"Why wouldn't it?" Bain retorted. "You breached my personal space and gave insult to injury when you did what you did. I told you to leave me alone but no, you had the _audacity_ to ignore my one and only warning."

"I didn't know!" she protested. "How could I? I just moved here for fuck's sake!"

"You're an example," Bain cut in sharply. "You were to show these redneck fucks why you shouldn't mess with me. At least originally you were. Now it's just out of habit."

"Habit?" her voice cracked. "You mean…?"

"It's only partially," Bain shrugged. "I've fantasized about this moment long enough; I'm tired of it and the only way to end it is to end you. That's my problem. Once I get something into my head, the only way to get it out is to act it out. Sucks to be you now, doesn't it?"

"Can't we work something out?" she asked desperately, struggling against the restraints he had on her. "You don't have to do this."

"But I must, I must," Bain replied as he looked down at the sword he held. Grimacing, he tossed it away carelessly. "Swords aren't really my thing. I prefer something smaller." At that he pulled out Winslow, causing Rhiannon to shudder at it in terror.

She knew that large hunting knife by sight; it had been thrown at her enough times for her to memorize it. It had been Winslow he had thrown at her the first time he made an attempt on her life all those years ago. She could remember the scene clearly: she was on the floor, being covered by a concerned Christophe, people were screaming, and Winslow was embedded in the wall while Bain slipped out of the classroom. It was the first time she had been confronted with her own mortality and the trauma was so bad that there were times she had nightmares of that knife actually hitting its target and Christophe being just one second too late…

The blade tapped against her cheek playfully and Rhiannon pulled herself out of her horrific reverie and into an even more terrifying reality. Bain was mere inches away from her, sneering and smirking at her with eyes filled with malice.

"Glad to have you back with us, we missed you," Bain said sarcastically as he took hold of her chin, Winslow being pressed into her skin, almost to the point that the skin would be cut but not quite there. "Hold still," he instructed, "this is going to hurt a lot…"

She could feel her heart hammering within her chest in anticipation of the first cut that would begin her torture. She wanted nothing more to be home with her mom or at least under the covers in her bed where she could at least try and hide from this monster. She focused on her heartbeat, hoping to try and zone out so that the pain would not be as harsh.

Each beat she counted, getting into a rhythm that sounded like…a motorcycle?

A boarded-up section of the wall tore open as Rhiannon's knight in shining armor burst onto the scene, and in style no less. She would never be able to mistake that hulking form for anyone else other than the Sex God himself, Christophe DeLorne, who had come to her rescue.

She had never felt as much relief before as she did right then.

Bain pulled away from her abruptly, Winslow not leaving anything worse than a scratch (that thing was sharp, you know), and he spun around to snarl at the interruption, glaring darkly at Christophe.

"Ever the fucking hero," he growled, his grip tightening on Winslow's handle.

"I zought you would 'ave known better," Christophe shot back cooling as he stepped off his bike, his larger, more powerful body rippling beneath the practically skintight black shirt and loose cargo pants. "Obviously, I o'erestimated you."

"There won't be much to overrate when I deck these walls with your bowels," Bain snapped back as he took a step closer to Christophe. "This is the last time you interfere, surrender flunky."

"We'll zee about zat, won't we?" Christophe smirked back as he came to a stop a few yards away from Bain, his arms raising up into a fighting stance. "I've kick your ass be'fore. I weel do et again."

"Is that so?" Bain mocked. "I seem to recall a few occasions where you needed a woman to do your fighting for you."

"Ze only zing I needed was a break from you," Christophe replied smoothly, his accent highlighting his confidence. "'asn't it occurred to you zat maybe I only needed Charlie was because you are zo bad?"

Those seemed to be the words Christophe was looking for as Bain snarled and lunged at him, light gleaming off of Winslow's blade as sliced through the air, its destination none other than Christophe's heart.

Rhiannon watched in awe as Christophe slid seamlessly to a side, dodging Bain's attack. Even though Bain's slice had missed, the smaller boy wasn't about to give the other an opening as he drew Winslow back, slashing at Christophe and managing to cut him on his forearm. Christophe grunted, ignoring the pain as he grappled with the maniac.

Rhiannon looked away for a minute, not seeing what immediately happened next though she heard the grunts and snarls from the two fighters. When she did look back, it was just in time to see Christophe slug Bain in the cheek with a well-aimed fist and she winced slightly at the impact. She could imagine what it was like to have all that strength coiled in Christophe's muscled arm being released on someone as small as Bain Cynis but she couldn't find any sympathy for the psycho.

Then again, he was threatening to kill her and was about to go through with it just a minute ago.

Even though he had taken one of Christophe's hard-hitting blows head-on, Bain did not fall as some might have thought though he did stumble back. However, he got his footing back quickly and lunged back at Christophe a split second later, his shoulder impacting Christophe in his stomach.

Christophe barely seemed fazed by this but the larger teen did hasten to grab Bain by his wrists, only succeeding with Bain's right one which also just happened to be the one connected to the hand that held Winslow. Bain's left, however, was landing jab after jab into Christophe side, the mercenary grunting softly to each hit but not visibly showing any sign that it was affecting him.

Then without warning, Bain pulled back slightly and slammed a knee upwards right into Christophe's groin and out of all the hits Bain had managed to land thus far, that one seemed to have the more effectiveness as Christophe bent over, his eyes bulging out of their sockets at the unexpected attack.

Wrenching his wrist free from Christophe's grip, Bain grabbed the mercenary by his head and shoved it downward to meet with his other knee. Christophe, though, did not fall to the floor as any lesser person would have but Rhiannon couldn't bear to see what would happen next, looking away once more.

Was it just her or did this fight seem more vicious than all the others? Neither of the two looked like they were holding back and each seemed determined to annihilate the other, not caring if they burned the other or themselves out first.

Getting the nerve to look back at the fight, Rhiannon peeked at it just in time to see Christophe in the midst of getting the upperhand against Bain, the mercenary landing punch after punch into Bain's gut, stopping in the pattern to deck the smaller boy. Bain collapsed onto the floor, managing to catch himself before his bruising face could get acquainted with the concrete surface.

In an impressive feat of strength, Christophe grabbed Bain by his trademark trenchcoat and lifted the smaller teen over his head. Rhiannon watched as Bain bit back an expletive as he was literally thrown halfway across the large room, his body smacking audibly against some broken crates that populated the place.

However, Christophe didn't seem to want to let it in there as he was displaying some impressive speed and leaping over the crates, vanishing from sight though Rhiannon could hear what sounded like more punches being landed before it all went quiet. The rainbow decorated girl bit her lip, practically trembling in anticipation at who was the victor, keeping her fingers crossed that it wasn't the wrong one.

Slowly a form emerged from amongst the crates and Rhiannon felt her heart pounding within her chest. This was it, wasn't it? Whoever had won…well she was left to whatever mercy the victor had, wasn't she?

She could only hope that it was Christophe, her Sex God, but her brain only seemed to think that it was Bain who had triumphed, who was making his way closer to her and with each step he took, her life would be sealed more and more. She couldn't watch; she shut her eyes tightly and waited for whatever was about to happen.

A calloused hand gently cupped her cheek, a thumb stroking her skin. She opened her eyes but found to her horror that right beside her stood Bain. He was looking down at her dispassionately until one side of his lips contorted into a one-sided sneer. Then unexpectedly, he collapsed onto her, his body literally falling onto her lap before sliding off onto the floor. Her heart pounding in terror, she squirmed in her seat just as another form approached her.

She clenched her eyes shut and screamed, hoping to whatever God that existed would hear her and send help. Suddenly, her restraints slackened and the rope that bound her fell away. Strong arms wrapped around her and picked her up. Her eyes still shut, she began to struggle, her screams picking up in pitch.

And then she heard the sweet nothings being whispered into her ear, a French accent pronounced in the soft voice. Snapping open her eyes, she whirled her head around, almost hitting the Sex God himself in the face but missing due to his quicker reflexes.

"Sorry 'bout zat," he told her, his eyes flickering downwards towards Bain's prone form then back up to her. 'E got a lucky 'it. Still, looks like 'e tired out before 'e could do anyzing."

Whatever had occurred between them, what reasons that had led to them separating, it didn't matter right now to Rhiannon as she fell against Christophe, clutching at his shirt as if it was the only lifeline she had. The terror and angst that she had gone through only recently overpowered any thoughts of antagonism she may have had.

She missed this, missed being able to lean against this paragon and to allow him to envelop her in all the strength that he possessed. The confession he had given her all those months ago, professing that he was experiencing homoerotic thoughts, and the way she distanced herself from him because of it just looked so silly right now. Why should she be bothered by such a thing, especially when recalling there was a homicidal maniac after her head? Was it because she was so insecure? That she was afraid that she would lose him to someone else?

Did she not want to be hurt anymore?

"Et's going to be al'ight," Christophe told her soothingly. "Let's get you out of 'ere, _oui_?"

She nodded, not being able to muster up the will to use her voice. She wanted to feel safe and she never felt any safer than when she was in her Sex God's arms. Where did things go so wrong?

Maybe the whole trauma of this event was starting to get to her because she was moving automatically as Christophe led her to the motorcycle that was vaguely familiar to her. Familiar but she couldn't place where she had seen it. She was thinking school for some reason but why?

"Lift your leg please," Christophe instructed her, steadying her so that she wouldn't fall down and alerting her to the fact that her balance may be compromised if she didn't do so. He helped her onto the contraption that she now noticed hadn't been turned off. It had been on this whole time? Maybe he had been thinking that this would be a short incident? That would probably explain it; she remembered that he wasn't into wasting gas, something about oil companies and price gouging.

Then it occurred to her as she sat on the cycle that she was on the part of the seat usually referred to as a "bitch seat." There was still plenty of room for Christophe to take a seat in front of her but none of that registered at the thought of being Christophe bitch's ruminated in her mind. A part of her was melting at the thought, desiring to be whatever the Sex God wanted; another part wanted to stand up and throttle him.

She couldn't decide which to do as she looked up at him and the dilemma was erased from her mind at the sight of that charming and warm smile of his, the one that made her heart throb and fall in love with him all over again.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed some movement behind Christophe and her eyes widened in fear. Christophe picked up on it instantly as he shoved himself away from her just as an axe blade chopped into the motorcycle just in front of the seat.

Rhiannon had seen Bain before looking like the psycho that he claimed to be but the expression on his face right now put all over experiences to shame. He looked like he was out of his mind, no ifs, ands, or buts about it. His eyes were wide with mania, his brow creased, and his teeth visible and clenched together so tightly that it looked like they would shatter at any second.

He looked like an animal, a psychotic, ravenous animal.

The axe was pulled out of the bike with ease but it wasn't towards Rhiannon that it was aimed it. It was Christophe who also seemed shocked at Bain's expression, giving the freak the precious seconds he needed to raise the axe high into the air and begin to bring it down, the blade aimed for the mercenary's skull.

But Christophe was too good at what he did to let such a large weapon hit him, much less allow the wielder the time necessary to use it to its fullest potential. He raised his arms up and blocked the axe, the long handle of the axe smacking against his crossed forearms. The force that Bain had put into his swing backfired, jarring the axe in his tight grip and loosening his hold on it. It was enough for Christophe to wrestle it out of his hold and fling the deadly instrument to the farthest reaches of the large room.

Rhiannon had to wince at the backhanded slap the mercenary gave to Bain but he didn't stop there as he grabbed the smaller teen's head and delivered a bonecrushing head-butt. For a moment, Bain just stood there, stock-still, and then crumpled to the ground as if he could not stand anymore. Christophe glared down at the fallen form before looking up and giving her an apologetic look.

"Sorry 'bout zat. Let me make sure 'e can't follow us," he told her as he snaked his hands under Bain's shoulders and began to drag him away to another part of the room.

Meanwhile, Rhiannon got herself off the damaged motorcycle and moved away from the rumbling machine, wrapping her arms around herself as if trying to give herself some comfort. Before she knew it, Christophe was back at her side, wrapping his arms around her and comforting her.

"Et is over now," he muttered to her. "No need to be afraid."

At that point, Rhiannon knew she could believe him.

* * *

The room was dark, lit only by the dim lighting that came from flickering candles that littered the place.

In the middle of it, Sunny was busy finishing up the last lines to the large, runic pentagram that took up the majority of the floor. Repeatedly, she looked back into the book that the Goths had leant her and back to the intricate design, double checking and triple checking to make sure she was doing it right.

She had used up a whole box and a half of chalk for this and she did not want to start all over again.

To imagine she would be going to the extreme here in order to get back at that cocksucking asshole who had used her. But it was going to be worth it. It would be worth it. All the horror movies she had ever watched said it would be.

Going over the design one last time, making she hadn't forgotten anything or made a mistake, she took a seat at the very edge of the rune and read through the incantation she needed to recite.

"Klatu…veratta…nictoo? No, that's not right," she mumbled under her breath. "Um…uh huh…I think that's right…oh I hope this works." Setting the book aside, she closed her eyes and braced her body, mentally reciting the words in her head again before she reached over and picked up a wire-meshed cage and pulled out the live chicken that had been clucking within it. Picking up the cleaver she had brought for this purpose, she held the chicken down on the floor, raised the blade up and brought it down, decapitating the fowl. She felt sick doing it but it was all in the name of revenge. She had to do it.

She tossed the headless bird into the middle of the pentagram where the decapitated fowl began running around, blood spewing from its severed neck. Shutting her eyes harder, she recited the incantation, doing her best to ignore the noise.

"Ekruor yekcim! Sert! Iewz! Enu! Elohkcid a si ohw darb rehtorb ym yllaicepse dna ecneconni ym elots dna em demrah evah taht elohssa eht hsurc ot rewop eht em tnarg. Etarepsed m'I, gnihtyna, azzip ro, rehc, rewop, yenom si ti rehtehw, ngis a em dnes! Aelp ym raeh, evoba snevaeh eht morf mih detsac evah semirc esohw eno krad o."

As the headless chicken continued running about in the circle, the chalked lines began glowing malevolently, brightening and brightening until the runic pentagram could no longer be seen with the mortal eye. Sunny had trouble keeping her crouched position as a sourceless wind buffeted her. She had a gut feeling that something horrible was happening in front of her but she didn't dare open her eyes to see what was happening.

Then instantly, it became quiet and silent. Slowly, Sunny opened her eyes and lifted her head up, searching for a sign of any demonic activity.

Suffice to say, she found it hovering three feet off the floor.

It was a completely black being with glowing red eyes and vague features, tiny horns growing out of the sides of the skull-like head. She could see outlines of what looked like arms and legs but she couldn't really tell if they really were limbs as they were curled tightly against an enormous torso. A serpentine tail slithered about and Sunny was unable to see the tip of it or where the tip was.

"_Ah, a pathetic human…"_ the demon growled, _"so you are what has summoned me from my slumber in the bowels of Hell. How pitiful you look."_

Sunny swallowed, suddenly not so sure about this. She was getting cold feet right at the time when she was past the point-of-no-return. Great.

"_What? Speechless?"_ the demon taunted. _"Don't bother, I do not care for your meaningless babble. I shall possess your body here and now and bring about the beginning of my Dark Lord's unholy reign!"_

Before Sunny could say anything, the demon raised itself higher into the air before shooting lightning quick into her mouth and entering her body.

For a minute, she remained where she was, her body occasionally twitching as the demon made itself at home within her. Silence echoed in the din that had resulted and candles went out periodically as the seconds ticked by. Then, unexpectedly, the demon shot back out of her body except instead of being dark, foreboding, and all-and-all evil, it was cringing in on itself and blubbering like a toddler, rocking back and forth.

"_Oh my god, it's so bland!"_ the demon wailed, _"IT'S SO BLAND!"_

Flames erupted from the rune on the floor, engulfing the demon and returning it to the domain of Hell from wince it came.

That left Sunny along in an empty room, smelling like brimstone, and no demon ready to spread unholy evil over the town.

Huh.

* * *

The noise of crickets was the only music Christophe heard as he piggy-backed Rhiannon back to her home. She was traumatized for sure, something he was going to have to pay Bain back for later, but for now he was going to have to lighten the impact of her ordeal.

It was the least he could do.

He could feel her trembling against him, prompting him to speed up but he held himself back from doing so as he did not want to drop her by accident. She had suffered enough.

He could see her house from where he trekked, a porch light left on so that Rhiannon wouldn't be coming home in utter darkness. He knew that it was her house precisely because he had been there countless times, having gone there to pick her up and even spent the night on a few occasions.

All for her protection, of course.

Automatically, his mind began to calculate how long it would take for him to reach her house, weighing in various factors such as how far away he was, how fast he was moving, how much weight he was carrying, the possibility of something interfering and its severity and other variables. It was something he had developed over countless missions where he would often find himself out in the cold, waiting for an opportunity to sneak past the guards on watch. When you were bored, cold and in the mud, your mind did whatever it had to to entertain itself.

"We're almost zere, _cher_," he told her, his calculations telling him that this would only take a few more minutes. He felt Rhiannon nod her head against his back, probably unable to gather enough wits to use her voice. He didn't blame her; you had to be really special or completely fucked up to come out of what she had just experienced talking up a storm.

Take a guess which one he was.

They continued in silence but it wasn't a silence that had begun only a short time ago. No, it was a silence that had started the moment he had turned his back on her in the mall restroom, severing the relationship that they had spent the better part of their high school careers building. He didn't like the silence, despised it even, and he was determined that tonight would be the night that it would end. The problem was that despite all his experiences, this was something he had no idea on what to do about it.

Steadily, he approached her house, the light a beacon in the cool night, and came to a stop a few feet away from the front door. Turning his head to a side so that he could get a better look of her face, he asked, "Would you like for me to take you up to your room?"

Rhiannon shook her head in the negative, biting her lip uneasily.

Crouching down onto the sidewalk, he waited patiently for Rhiannon to remove herself from his back, the girl unwrapping her legs from around his waist and tentatively touching the ground. He continued to wait even as Rhiannon slowly pushed herself up, testing her balance even though her legs were almost as limp as noodles.

Once he was sure she was on her feet, he stood back up to his full height and placed his hands on the traumatized girl, making sure that she wouldn't collapse any time soon. He was being more sensitive to another's needs but for this girl, he knew that nothing would be too degrading for him. She meant that much to him.

"Do you zink you will be all right?" he asked her, wanting to be sure that she could handle him leaving.

Rhiannon sniffed, holding back what suspiciously sounded like a hiccup. "I should be used to this," she told him frankly. "This…this isn't the first time and I should have known he would have…that he would have come after me eventually."

"But do you zink you will be all right?" he pressed. He didn't want to go into that dark territory and wanted to cut Rhiannon's journey into it short, before she could get lost in it.

"I…I think so," she sniffed.

"Are you sure you don't need me to…?" he trailed off.

"I'm sure," she said. "Th-thank you for saving me. Again."

"I zought you knew," he chided her, "I'll always be zere to protect you." Taking one of her hands, he raised it up and kissed the back of it lightly. "No matter what 'appens, I will always be a'ound to save you."

"I don't get it," Rhiannon blurted out. "Why? We…we broke up! You don't have to do anything for me, you know that."

"Just because we are going zrough some trouble does not mean zat I still do not want to protect you," he told her. "Above all else, you are my friend, Rhiannon. I do not like how zings are between us. Et is all fucked up."

Rhiannon nodded in agreement to that but said nothing else.

Christophe was unsure of what he should say next; it was rare that he was ever placed into this kind of position but he knew he had to brave through. As long as Charlie did not get wind of this, since he knew she wouldn't let him live it down, he figured that demeaning himself and being an out-and-out pussy couldn't hurt him.

Still sucked that he had to lower himself to that point but you know what, love made you do crazy things.

"I would like for us to be together again," he told her earnestly and the hope that shined in her eyes at that made him wince internally. "I would love zat we forget what has 'appened between us and go back to ze way zings were…but I know zat zat would be ze worst zing we could do."

Rhiannon opened her mouth to either protest this or something else along those lines but Christophe knew he couldn't let her speak, not at this point if he was to set things right.

"We rushed into et, didn't we?" he asked rhetorically. "We 'ardly knew each ozzer when we got together and while we had some great times, et wasn't stable. Was et doomed from ze start, I do not know. But I do know zis.

"I am a bisexual, Rhiannon. I am attracted to boze sexes. 'owever, I am also attracted to you. I know et wasn't easy for you to learn zis but I am telling you right here and now who et is I am. What you do wiz et is up to you."

So much mushy stuff and it all came from him. He was going to make doubly sure that Charlie never got wind of this. Meanwhile, Rhiannon was quiet as she took in all that he told her. He continued to watch her, never taking his eyes off her as at this point, he didn't care if he was rejected or not. He didn't want to have to keep his distance from her any longer and he didn't want to not have at least her friendship.

"I have something to tell you," Rhiannon finally confessed. "I'm a self-centered bitch. I'm possessive, I get easily jealous, and…and I'm vulnerable. I miss being around you, Christophe. I fucking miss being with you, having you hold me whenever, I fucking hate this! What happened between us?"

"I guess we are just two stubborn fools," Christophe mused. "We each zought we were in ze right and didn't want to admit zat perhaps we were overreacting."

"That sounds about right," Rhiannon agreed, sniffing.

"What's say we start over?" he suggested. "And zis time, we do it right. You know about me, I know about you."

"We start as friends," Rhiannon summed up. "I…I would like that. And maybe…"

"When ze time is right," Christophe picked up.

"We could get together," Rhiannon finished up.

"I look forward to et," he told her. Bringing her hand back up, he kissed it again. "Do you need me to help you…?"

"No, I think I can handle it," she told him.

"Zen I bid you good night," he told her as he guided her to the front door. He remained where he was as the girl passed through the threshold of her abode and did not turn away until after he heard the locks sliding into place.

Satisfied now that she had some security, he took his leave from her property and headed down the street, seemingly going in a random direction. It just so happened that his own home was in this direction; he just had to walk down a couple streets and he would be there.

He was satisfied with the way things had worked out this evening. He was pleased that Rhiannon seemed just as eager to patch things up with him as he was with her. Maybe after some time, they could pick up where things had started to go wrong only this time they would be stronger for it.

However, he knew he was going to have to let his tenant know about this. Whether Sawyer would admit it or not, he knew the other boy was attracted to him. He was a bit ashamed that he may have taken advantage of this for some experimenting but he knew it would be the right thing for him to lay it all down. He hoped that Sawyer wouldn't hold it against him or react in the way Rhiannon had when he had first confessed his homoerotic thoughts to her.

But even the possibility of that couldn't bring him down. He was feeling like he was on top of the world and that nothing could bring him down. Even as he turned a corner and headed down another street, Rhiannon's house dropping out of sight, he felt like nothing could go wrong.

A light flashing on caused him to stop in his tracks though he did not raise his arm up to shield his eyes. He did narrow them as he peered ahead.

He had been aware that there was a car there; he could hear the purring of the engine beneath its hood even when its headlights were turned off, causing the black-colored car to blend in with the darkness of the night. Now, though, those headlights were turned on full blast.

He was not unnerved by this at all. In fact, he had been expecting it. With a swagger in his step, he approached the driver side window that rolled down the closer he got to it. The moment he came to a stop, a hand slid out, palm upwards with the fingers curled just slightly as if demanding something.

He rolled his eyes and took out a few folded one-hundred dollar bills and slapped them into the outstretched palm that immediately pulled back in.

"Hmm, that looks like that's all of it," Bain Cynis commented as he counted up the bills.

"Did you really zink I would stiff you?" Christophe scoffed.

"You Frenchies are sly, it doesn't hurt to check," Bain replied back. "We're still in agreement that you're still paying whatever hospital bill I rack up, correct?"

"It's a few measly bruises, you pussy," Christophe shot at him. "I held back zis time. Zere's no need to get yourself a check-up."

"Oh, but there is," Bain corrected. "If Charlotte finds out about our little deal, a few bruises isn't going to be stopping her."

"And why would she find out I paid you to kidnap my ex?" Christophe demanded.

Bain gave him a look.

"I hate et when you're right," Christophe grumbled as he scratched the top of his head.

"I'm always right," Bain retorted. "And besides, it's not like I would have given up the opportunity to go after the Edwards bitch anyway; being paid to do it is just the bonus."

"Would you shut up about et?" Christophe snapped. "Et's bad enough I had to go to you for 'elp."

"Oh, I'll be rubbing this in your face for quite some time," Bain said idly. "Now get in. I have a doctor to visit and I need you to be there to sign off on some things."

"Yes, your highness," Christophe sneered but walked around the car anyway to get into the passenger seat.

"Before I forget, I didn't know you owned a motorcycle," Bain commented as he shifted the gear into drive.

"I don't," Christophe smirked.

* * *

Earlier that evening Rod was getting ready to go cruising and possibly pick up someone when he came to a stop at his driveway. All he could see was a dark stain on the driveway where the liquid exhaust would land whenever he parked his bike.

The problem, though, was that that was all he saw. The motorcycle, his precious Harley wasn't where he had last left it. In fact, it was nowhere to be seen.

"What the—"

* * *

"So what brings you down here to Hell's Pass?" the ever-present head doctor asked as he observed the two young men that stood before him. Of the two of them, it was the shorter one that looked like he had been through hell as there were giant splotches of bruises forming on his face.

It was the shorter one, though, that spoke up. "I fell down some stairs."

The doctor stared at the young man for a moment before he nodded. "We seem to be getting that a lot lately. Well, I'll get you set up, just wait here and fill out the appropriate forms so that we can get started. To tell you two the truth, this is the first time I've had a gay couple come in with that same story."

"Gay? With _him_!" the short one sputtered in outrage while the taller one looked like he was choking on something. It wasn't his problem, really; he had other patients to tend to.

Turning away, he headed towards another couple in which a pregnant wife had fallen down a set of stairs too though she had two large black eyes and her husband was watching her like a hawk. It seemed like this was the season for folks to be falling down the stairs for some reason…

* * *

It wasn't odd to have customers staying this late at the bar, the bartender thought to himself, but it was going to be dawn in a couple of hours. Yet for some reason, he could not bring himself to kick these two individuals out.

One was an enormous guy with red skin and goat hooves who wore a dark loincloth and a gaudy blonde wig on top of his head as if to disguise himself. The other was a much shorter man yet when compared to an average person, he towered over them. With only an overcoat and a cowboy hat, a bandana wrapped around his next, visible, he seemed to radiate pure murder and toughness from the way his eyes were narrowed to the godliness that was his beard.

Despite their imposing looks, the two weren't drinking alcohol, per se. No, the man in the cowboy hat had ordered up milk and the large red fellow had opted for the same.

It was odd how when he turned around, several of his whiskeys had somehow been replaced with milk even though they still smelled like whiskey. He had a theory that the whisky was so terrified of the man with the cowboy hat that it had changed its chemical composition in order to please him.

That was his theory and he was sticking to it.

Throughout the night, the red-skinned customer who was really a poorly disguised Satan, Lord of Darkness, whined to the pure piece of manliness that was Chuck Norris, the one man who could put the fear of God into God. What was it that this Fallen Prince was speaking to the man who had roundhouse kicked the universe and ordered to get a job about?

"He keeps getting worse and worse," Satan moaned and he propped his head on one hand. "I've grounded him and revoked all his surface privileges for the next one hundred years and cut him off from the internet for a month but it's like he becomes more and more defiant. I swear, he's hanging out with that Lilith too much. That unholy bitch is giving him ideas…"

Chuck Norris, meanwhile, said nothing. All he did was pick up a shot glass that was filled with the Messiah juice that was milk and gulped it down. He didn't even have to call for a refill, the bartender scurried up and refilled it before vanishing back behind his counter.

"I mean, what do I do?" Satan demanded as he banged on the table, holding his strength back so that he didn't shatter the wood into a million splinters like he had the five others before it. "I can deal with rebellious teenagers with two hands tied behind my back! Why can't I control Damien like God controls that pussy Jesus?"

"It's because Jesus is a pussy," Chuck Norris stated.

That was all that needed to be said.

Satan sighed and he slumped down on his seat. "I've asked all the other great babysitters for help, called up those super nannies…though the best one was in an asylum eating her own shit for some reason, I even brought in that Mr. Jefferson guy who keeps insisting that's he a little white girl! Nothing has worked!"

"Have you beat him?" Chuck Norris asked.

"What? Beat him and get served by Child Protective Services? No thank you," Satan grunted. "I don't even know how those bastards got into Hell in the first place! It's just like that time the IRS came looking for back taxes. I'll take on God any day but the IRS…Christ that was a nightmare. …by the way, I heard that you don't have to pay taxes. How'd you do that?"

"I sent them a blank form and a picture of myself posed to attack."

"Oh. Yeah, I can really see that working."

"Why don't you send the little punk back onto Earth but take his powers away," Chuck Norris stated because Chuck Norris doesn't ask questions.

"And leave him out in the cold? Helpless?" Satan exclaimed, aghast.

"Either that or bribe some idiot to watch him," Chuck Norris said. "You want my opinion? Show some tough love. I beat my kids and they turned out just fine."

"Um…your children are dead," Satan pointed out.

"And they're just fine," Chuck Norris repeated, his narrowed eyes peering into the Dark Prince's.

"They're fine, I get it," Satan said hastily, holding his arms up in surrender. Once he was sure he was in the clear, Satan lowered his hands and gave some thought to the man's suggestions. "Hmm…you know, you may be on to something. In fact…I think if I do things just right, _I_ can get something out of this."

"That's the spirit," Chuck Norris said.

"Um…before I go, do you think I could…?" Satan asked hesitantly.

"Sure," the man among gods answered. Without warning, he stuck a hand into his mouth and tore out one of his incisors…which was about the size of a grown man's fist, of course. "Bind your son to that and he'll be forced to obey anyone who wields it."

"Oh you're a lifesaver Chuck," Satan praised as he took and held the tooth reverently.

"I've got to get going," Chuck Norris said, standing up. "I have a duel to the death against a squad of deadly, demonic, ninja assassins at dawn just outside of Mongolia."

"Just try and not make another earthquake," Satan requested. "Japan is still trying to clean up after the last time."

* * *

It was obvious that Kyra had undergone some kind of transformation. Gary didn't have to look very hard to see the telltale signs of a person who has done nothing but stay inside and play video games.

Kyra had gained a little weight, her skin was slightly pallid, and she had bags under her eyes that spoke of not getting enough sleep. And there she was, planted on her couch with various junk food surrounding her, playing game after game on her Xbox 360.

Gary didn't have to say it out loud but he knew that this wasn't healthy. He was going to have to do something about it and he was going to have to do that something now.

Sending up a little prayer to God to ask for whatever divine intervention he might need, he reached a hand over and turned the Xbox off.

Kyra blinked at the black screen for a minute, staring at it as if wondering what the hell had just happened but as she grew more and more aware of her surroundings, Gary knew that she had figured out what had happened.

"Why'd you do that!" she protested, turning on the Mormon with rage-filled eyes.

"Kyra, don't you think you've been playing a bit much lately?" he asked her, putting some space between them in case she turned feral and tried to tear his throat out.

"No," she stated. "Now get the fuck out of here. I was playing with Stan!"

Ah yes, the root of the problem. It always led up back to Stan and the fact that he never seemed to take notice of Kyra outside of the Halo world. What was kind of sad here was that Stan thought that Kyra was a guy and he treated her as such, unaware of her true identity. Kyra hadn't done anything to correct that view either.

"Kyra, this is getting out of hand," he told her, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to look as intimidating as he could.

Kyra was not intimidated.

"No it's not!" she protested, glaring up at him.

"You've been on this thing every day!" Gary exclaimed. The only time you're not is when you're at school and even then you leave right after to get back online!"

"What if Stan shows up and I'm not on?" Kyra snapped back. "He'll wonder where I am! I have to be here!"

"Every hour of every day?" Gary snarked. "Look at what you're doing to yourself! You're throwing away your health and I bet that's not all. What are your grades like at school? Are they falling? I bet they are."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Kyra sniffed, looking away. Looks like he hit close to the mark on that one.

"Stan has his friends and his…girlfriend," he told her frankly. "He's going to spend as much time as he can with them and then once he's done, he'll play with you. I only suggested this as a way to try and get him to spend time with you, not have you isolate yourself from the world. You're practically obsessed!"

"But he doesn't pay attention to me out there," Kyra cried. "He doesn't know I exist and walks right past me. How else can I talk with him if not here? It's all I've got!"

"You've got me," he told her honestly. "I'm your friend, right?"

"But you're not Stan," she murmured.

He sighed and looked away from her, wondering what else he could say to her that could cheer her up. His idea had backfired stupendously and it was no one's fault but his own. How was he going to fix this?

The idea didn't hit him but it hadn't exactly been in his mind either. He was a thought that he had been having over the past week or so and it just so happened that it came to mind right now. Why not take a direct route and force these two together? Whatever relationship Kyra wanted with Stan was not going to happen if things continued the way they were.

"You know what, you're right," he said. "I'm not Stan but do you know what? I'm going to change that. On Monday I'm going to do something about this."

"Huh?" Kyra grunted, looking up at him curiously, wondering what he was talking about.

"I'm going to shove the two of you together," he explained. "No more pussyfooting around this. I know you like Stan and the only real way to get him to know you is to not only introduce you to him but to make him remember you." He reached out and took one of her hands, gripping it tightly and pulling her up to her feet. "If you want to make a relationship possible, you have to take the first step and put your heart on the line."

"No!" Kyra cried out. "I can't do that! What if I get hurt?"

"We get hurt all the time," he answered earnestly. "We get hurt if we do something, we get hurt if we do nothing. It's better to do something and get hurt and not do something and still get hurt. Right now you're doing nothing and hurting yourself. It's time that stops."

"But what if he says no?" she protested.

"It's the risk we're going to have to take," he replied. "Now what I want you to do is clean up. Tomorrow, we're going to make you pretty!"

He was the only one in the room who did not think that line made him look gay.


	14. Playing Hardball

Author's Note: Sorry for the wait. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, sexual themes

Playing Hardball

Kyra was understandably nervous come that Monday. She wasn't like Gary who was more outgoing and brash, willing to take whatever criticism was thrown at him and let it slide off him as if he had titanium covering. Kyra, on the other hand, was nowhere close to that level of self-esteem where she could ignore others' taunts like they didn't matter.

That was why Gary held her by the hand as he dragged her into school while she dug her heels in and tried to resist. It wasn't working well as Gary didn't even notice her resistence.

In fact, Gary seemed more preoccupied with trying to find someone than he was concerned with her anxiety. She envied him that he could be so single-minded in his endeavors. She had learned all about it when Gary had revealed his secreted but keen fashion sense as he trashed her wardrobe and later woke her up early this morning so he could help her with her makeup.

He explained that all away but saying he had to deal with his older and younger sisters and help them out from time to time. If that didn't scream out homosexual, Kyra didn't know what else would.

"There he is!" Gary declared as he finally came to a stop.

Kyra looked ahead and paled slightly as she caught sight of Stan up ahead, speaking with Gwendolyn, the very person he had hooked up with right in front of her face. Oh crap, this was it, wasn't it? She tugged hopelessly against Gary's strong grip as he led her closer to destiny, unable to slip her hand free and try to escape what was most definitely going to be a disaster.

It was too bad Gary couldn't see that.

"Hey Stan!" Gary greeted cheerfully, giving his famous, or infamous, megawatt smile that either melted your resolve or irritated the hell out of you.

Stan glanced coolly back at the blond, apparently not impressed by the blond's smile. "Oh. It's you."

"You look happy as ever," Gary continued, oblivious to the other's cool demeanor. He turned towards Gwendolyn and said, "How are things with you, Ashley?"

"Decent," she grunted, shrugging her shoulders.

What was Gary doing? Making conversation? Kyra didn't understand…

"That's good," Gary nodded his head, still giving that smile of his. "I've been hearing all these things like Stan calling you Wendy 2—"

"Don't fucking mention those words if you value your life," Gwendolyn hissed, glaring at the blond who didn't seem perturbed in the slightest. Kyra was honestly wondering how he was able to keep from quailing before such fury.

"Sorry," he said anyway. "I forgot that that was a touchy subject. By the way, have you met my friend Kyra?" On no, this was the part that she had been dreading the most but she didn't have the choice of hiding behind the blond as he pulled her right in front of him as if he was displaying his new pet. For a moment, that's exactly what she felt like.

"Hi," Gwendolyn said, not really interested but it was Stan's reaction that was more important. Kyra looked up at her crush and felt her mouth go dry as her nerves were screaming at her to run away as fast as she could. Normally she would be able to say at least _something_ but whenever Stan was in a fifty foot radius, she found that her social skills abandoned her like Cartman did when the cops were onto him.

She saw Stan open his mouth to say something and her heart was pounding against her ribs at she anticipated some kind dismissive that would only serve to lower her already low self-esteem.

However, it wasn't words that came out of his mouth. It was a spray of vomit that erupted from that mouth and it was that same vomit that splattered against the outfit that Gary had painstakingly picked out for her. She could feel the warm slush splash against her neck and wash against her skin, making her shudder in horror at the sickening spectacle.

If this wasn't a rejection then she didn't know what would. All she knew was that she needed to get away as fast as possible. Probably still shocked that Stan had puked on her, Gary's hold on her wasn't as strong as it had been before, allowing her to slip out and around the blond, fleeing towards the nearest restroom.

Personally, she would have preferred to run out the main entrance but the smell of vomit was making her nauseous and she wanted to be in the safety of a bathroom stall where she could empty her stomach in peace.

Had she looked back once, she would have seen Stan giving her a look, one of awe and shock. He looked as if he couldn't believe what he had just done though not for the reason a normal person would think.

She also didn't see that Wendy (Stan's ex, not Gwendolyn) had been turning the corner at the same moment of Stan's puking episode and had seen the incident as well. However, Wendy didn't have the usual disinterested attitude that she had whenever Stan was nearby with Gwendolyn. No, if one were to look closely, they would have said it looked like jealousy.

* * *

It was going to take some getting used to but hopefully he wouldn't be getting used to _this_ anytime soon.

"What the fuck are you lookin' at, pretty boy?" the bus driver sneered down at him, his gut practically fusing with the steering wheel. "Do you not speak Ang-lish? Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth? Get. Your. Skinny. Ass. On. The. Bus. And. Sit. Down!"

…he'd need a paper bag and they'd be golden. Still, Rod was not sure if the fat ass would be able to get off his seat enough so that he'd be able to nail that hole… Oh God, he almost vomited in his mouth at the image in his mind's eye. No, if he was to do this asshole…he was going to need to be in a really dark room…with the paper bag on the guy's head. Then they'd be golden.

"Hey! Dumbass! Get your fuckin' ass on the bus! Or do ya think yer too good to sit on mah bus, huh? Is that it?"

Damn it, his parents better cough up and get him some new wheels soon. He did not think he'd be able to survive long with this guy.

An odd sound gurgled from the driver's fat belly. "Ah…feels like that enchilada dinner's kickin' in," the man groused.

One nightmare of a trip later, he was diving off the bus with the rest of the guys still on, kissing the ground as if it was a long lost lover.

"Fuckin' pussies," the bus driver grunted from his seat. "You'd think this was their first time riding."

Okay, if Rod had a list of people to screw over, this guy would have made it to the top of the list. Okay, more like number two. The asshole who jacked his bike had the number one spot reserved.

Alright, time to not look like he had been on the verge of death. He had an image to uphold, you know. Straightening his jacket, wiping off any dirt, snow, and bus driver spit that may have clung to it, and fixing his hat, he squared his shoulders and marched off into the school, on the prowl for anyone that might be able to take his mind off of this morning.

He found his answer soon enough in the form of one androgynous guy who he had had an eye on for quite some time. Ah, Christian Bates, how he wanted to plow him. The girlish guy looked indifferent to his surroundings but Rod was planning on changing that as he sidled up next to him and started laying on the charm.

"You're looking mighty fine this morning," he said with finesse.

"Not interested," Christian said bluntly, not even glancing at him.

"Hey, who said I was hitting?" he asked, doing his best to put some hurt in his voice. "I was just saying you looked good today. Is that wrong?"

"I'm not into jackasses who use others and throw them away," Christian replied, quickening his pace to try and get away from him.

"Okay, now I know you're just playing hard to get," Rod said, picking up his own pace and easily keeping up with the smaller boy. "Where'd you hear I ever did something like that?"

"I didn't, I just had to watch you with that pink-haired girl," Christian deadpanned, peering at him from the corner of his eye. "You got looks but you're just a dick."

"First of all, we broke up because we had too many differences," he lied, disregarding the truth that the androgynous boy had slapped him with, "and she didn't think the same way I did it. It looks one way, I know, but the only way to give her a hint was to ignore her. That's it."

"She wasn't the only one," Christian said stiffly. "Leave me alone. I'm straight."

"If you were, you'd have punched me by now," Rod insisted.

"Don't tempt me."

Rod let his lips curl upwards, perverseness radiating from it without question. "Oh? So do we have a little sadist on our hands?"

Christian glared at him coming to a stop, dropping the act that he was ignoring him altogether. "What the fuck? What kind of—?"

"What do you think" the blond taunted.

It was obvious that Christian was disgusted and Rod could see the punch coming a mile away. That was why he was not taken by surprise when the brunet reared his arm back and he kept his cool as the fist rushed to make friends with his face. He caught Christian's wrist quickly in an irontight grip and looked over around to see if he could move this incident somewhere more private. He spotted the boys' bathroom and dragged Christian in there before he could object and shoved the feminine boy in, slamming the door behind him and leaning his weight against it. There wasn't a lock on the door so he'd have to be careful.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Christian snapped at him, glaring bloody murder.

Rod ignored him as he spied the bathroom stalls, mentally counting the number of stall doors that were open and determining that no one else was in there. That was good and all but what if someone had to come in here? He couldn't lock the door because of the absence of a lock…but stalls had locks, didn't they?

A course of action decided upon, Rod advanced on Christian and forced him into one of the stalls, locking it behind him. As he looked down on his quarry, who continued to look defiant, he snatch up a hand and held the wrist tightly.

"You can't tell me you don't like the attention," he smirked as he brought the hand up close to his face and lightly pecked the knuckles with his lips. "I bet you don't get a lot of attention from the ladies because of your looks. Probably jealous that you're prettier than they are."

"What the? What are you doing !" Christian exclaimed, eyes wide open like a trapped animals. "Are you gay?"

"What's with the names?" Rod commented. "Why be so limiting? Gay or straight? It cuts in half the number of people you can screw."

"You mean this is a fucking booty call!" Christian spat out. "So you really are a dick. An asshole who uses people and ditches them when you're done with them."

Rod didn't answer him, instead preferring to shut the smaller teen up by grabbing his head, his fingers wrapping into the long, brown locks, and smashing his lips onto Christian's. Not wanting to risk his tongue just yet, he pulled away from the shocked boy, his smirk still spread on his face.

"So feisty," he said, his emerald green eyes boring into Christian's dark brown ones that had a sheen to them. "Feistier than any of the girls in this place." Once again he kissed Christian before the other boy could say anything. "They all have some kind of sense of entitlement here, that they're better than one another for dumbass reasons. Not that that would stop someone like me…but it's too much work sometimes."

"What do you want?" Christian managed to gasp out.

"To tie you down and have me wicked way with you," Rod told him truthfully. "No strings attached, no frills. Just raw passion and the chance to shoot my cum into whatever hole I can stick it in. Every guy's American dream."

"I…I don't want that," Christian looked away. "I not some fuck toy—"

"Do you really think that's important?" Rod asked dryly. "1058 Magnolia Street. Be there tonight."

"No…" Christian groaned, trying to resist.

"Yes," Rod shook him. "I want to show you so many things you can do with your tongue and I know, oh I know that you want me badly. You want to deny it, cling onto your 'straightness' but I know that you're curious. You haven't pushed me away. You've resisted but you haven't pushed."

"Shut up!" Christian exclaimed. "Leave me alone!"

"For now," he replied. "But trust me, you don't want to piss me off. Be at my house or pray you don't see me tomorrow. I will be waiting for you, no matter what happens."

He stole one last kiss from Christian before he abandoned his side, slipping out of the stall and from there the bathroom, confident he had made his point. Was it bullying? A bit but you had to be firm with these kind of people. Even if Christian denied to his dying breath, Rod knew he had planted his seed, not his favorite kind but one just as good, deep in the boy's mind.

That, and he didn't think Christian would want to risk his threat because he would do him in the school bathroom if he had to.

He caught sight of Brianna a moment after he left and all his aggression left him as he gave her a warm smile, projecting the image of being the boy next door. You know, that guy who all your parents wanted you to date and eventually marry? Sure, he wasn't that guy but he looked it and he used that to his advantage.

"Hey Brianna," he greeted. "You're here early."

"No, you're just here late," Brianna retorted goodnaturedly. "Didn't see your bike out there. What happened?"

"Some creep jacked it," he growled darkly, looking ahead as if he had caught the perpetrator's scent. "Had to take the bus."

"Let me guess, the fat, power-hungry driver with control issues?" Brianna asked.

"You know him?"

"Everyone knows him. Nobody likes him."

"What's his deal?" he asked, truly curious.

"No one knows," Brianna shrugged. "I'm still wondering why he's still employed."

"Someone should egg the bastard's house," he grumbled.

"And make an enemy of all the kids that have to ride his bus?" Brianna asked skeptically. "They have to deal with him on a daily basis; you piss the driver off more than he already is, you'll have the kids after your blood. It's true; there's an altar for a blood sacrifice and everything, all in the name of appeasing the guy."

"Okay, that's weird," he said slowly.

"Actually, it's pretty normal," she shrugged.

* * *

Wendy hadn't cared a bit when she had seen Stan going out with Gwendolyn Long. She knew that Gwendolyn had a bit of a crush on Stan and wished the girl all the luck she could but she knew that Stan was just trying to use her in an incredibly stupid way.

She had seen this cliché before, she was just surprised that it hadn't backfired completely on him. Despite the amount of time they had been together, Stan seemed no closer to falling in love than he did when he first hooked up with her. Maybe that was why she hadn't been concerned about it; it was a relationship doomed to failure the moment Stan had conceived of his plan.

But now there was a new factor involved, one that not even she had foreseen. She had been minding her business when she had turned a corner in time to see Stan vomit on Kyra McCloud, Kyra running away in shame. If only Kyra knew the truth…

And because Wendy knew the truth, fortunately or unfortunately, she felt territorial for some reason. Stan only vomited on people he really, really liked. Like her, Wendy. He had never thrown up on Gwendolyn and she hadn't heard of him ever doing so. So while Gwendolyn put up with his antics, hoping against hope that Stan would eventually stop calling her Wendy 2 and fall in love with her, Wendy knew that that hope was a fantasy that would never see the light of day.

Ever.

Apparently, Gwendolyn didn't know the meaning behind Stan throwing up and was laughing about it to a couple girls, Wendy couldn't put names to them since her thoughts belonged elsewhere. Poor Gwen, she was going to be seriously screwed over and Wendy felt for her, she really did.

However, that still didn't dissipate the possessive sensations she was feeling. She had thought she had gotten over Stan but apparently not. Just thinking of Stan being with someone else that he actually _liked_ disturbed her more than it should. She was so used to Stan being obsessed with her that seeing the signs that Stan was about to develop a new obsession on someone else put her on red alert.

She hadn't been so alarmed since that substitute teacher she launched into the sun back in the third grade.

Kyra was a sweet girl, really, a bit of a goody-two-shoes but sweet nonetheless. Wendy felt bad that she had the urge to crush her.

She really thought that she had been over Stan…

* * *

Sawyer ignored Stan and Kyle as the two walked by, Kyle asking, for some reason, "You _threw up_ on her?" He only noticed it because it sounded really out there but other than that, the novelty wore off fast as he thought back to Christian.

The girlish-appearing boy looked really shaken, standing in the middle of the guys' restroom and staring off into space. Concerned, he had asked what was wrong, suspecting that it somehow involved that new guy, Rod. He had been minding his own business, taking a shit when someone barged in unexpectedly. Since he had been kinda hidden by the stall, whoever had come in was not aware that he had been there, especially since he was using the handicap stall and only because it had more space than a regular stall.

Then the voices had come and he recognized them as belonging to the girl-guy and the new guy, Rod. He had had half a mind to make his presence known when he had started listening to the words that were being spoken.

It struck very close to home for some reason. He didn't know why. And then had come the wet sounds that he figured out were kisses. Two guys making out in the guys' restroom…for some reason it didn't bother him whatsoever. Instead he kinda felt a bit excited about it…and yes, in that way too.

That Rod guy was sounding very domineering and aggressive now that he thought about it. Was he picking on the guy? It wasn't Christian's fault he looked like a girl.

A boyish girl…or a girlish boy, whichever one was your cup of tea. Nevertheless, he had wanted to help, see if there was anything he could do.

Christian, though, had looked at him suspiciously and told him to mind his own business. Well sheesh, if you were going to be that way.

Then why did he feel like he still wanted to help?

Well, just in the off chance that Christian came back to him, wanting some help, he'd contact someone he knew would be of assistance.

That's right, Christophe the fucking Mole. That is if he could find him in the first place. He hadn't seen him in a while, even at his own house. Was it was because he was starting to hang out with Rhiannon again, he mused. Now that he thought about it, Christophe seemed to be behaving a bit differently, at least where he was concerned. Used to, Christophe would do things, like lingering touches and an occasional grope and Sawyer found that he was enjoying the attention.

It was enough to send him into catatonic denial…for five seconds. Then his mind had begun to race with all the attention that had been focused on him. He had thought the two of them were friends and not…well, you know. Not even speaking with Killer seemed to help him; he was just so confused. He…he did like the attention, you know, and he couldn't explain it.

He couldn't explain why his heartbeat would increase when Christophe would send one of those sexy-ass smiles at—wait, did he just use the word sexy-ass? Goddamn it, he did. Fuck. Christophe was messing with his head and now…Christ, fucking Christ, he had convinced him he was gay, hadn't he? No, no, he wasn't gay, he was just…bicurious…and why did that sound so stupid?

Wait, what was he thinking about again? Oh right, getting help for Christian against that Rod guy. What had he been thinking about before? …best to not go back there. Well, anyway, helping Christian, the guy that he always had to give a double take to make sure he didn't mistake his gender. He supposed that there wasn't much he could do there if the guy wasn't going to give him the time of day to offer him any help.

Still, he supposed he could keep an eye out and if worst came to worst, he'd put up his dukes and try to ward Rod off.

* * *

Christian was never a person who worried about his looks or what other people thought about him. He liked having long hair, wore contacts because sometimes his glasses got tangled up in his long locks, and wore 100% cotton shirts whether they were plain, striped, or plaid because he liked how soft it felt against his skin.

If other people didn't like it then tough, he didn't give a shit. Why should gender determine who you were going to be for the rest of your life anyway? You were going to be stuck with who you were for the rest of your life so why try to make yourself as much as a douche as possible? It was a shame, really, that he had to live with a bunch of morons and idiots who took everything from fads to the Disney Channel at face value.

Despite that, he found that he wasn't really picked on for daring to be different. Maybe it was because he could mind-rape them with a few sentences, go all Hannibal Lector on their asses if he wanted, all he cared was that they stayed away and didn't bring him into their shit unless absolutely necessary and even then he was quick to get out of whatever mess that had reared its head in their town.

Today, though, marked something completely different in his average life of living in South Park, Colorado. Someone actually dragged him into their shit for once, against his will of course, and now he was stuck.

He had noticed Rod Woods giving him looks for quite some time but he had always ignored him, concluding that the guy was staring at him because of his radically different appearance. Then, in a confrontation that couldn't have lasted more than five minutes, the blond asshole turned that upside its head.

But no, he didn't stop there. Rod had to take things one step further. Order him to his house? Threatened him if he chose not to go? Who the hell did that guy think he was? And why couldn't he get those kisses out of his head? As if the memory was a broken record, he kept repeating the experience inside of his head and no matter what he tried, he couldn't exercise it out.

Son of a bitch.

And to add insult to injury, the asshole assumed that he was gay from his appearance. Him! Gay! What did he look like, a girl? Okay, bad question, but still! Just because he looked girly didn't mean that he was a flaming queer! He liked girls, dammit! Girls with soft flesh, firm melons, and…and…well whatever else it was that was considered attractive on girls!

He was in no way interested in the roughness that Rod was offering, the toughness of those fingers, the domination that was being forced on him…having to submit and put trust into someone bigger and stronger than you were…

Goddamn it, what the hell was he thinking? Sure the guy was physically appealing, he had no trouble admitting that, but he couldn't just go along with this shit! Who the hell did that asshole think he was? Wasn't he supposed to be a ladies' man? You know, obsessed with tits and vaginas and being able to say all the right things that would get those ginies tingling? Wasn't there some kind of rule that if you were straight, you couldn't straddle the fence or even thing of batting for the other team?

Now he was making himself confused.

You know what, he'd just ignore this! Yeah, that's what he would do. Rod was just being a dick and was just trying to get to him. Everything was fine, it was okay. The next time he would see that asshole, the asshole in question would be flirting with the female gender and their conversation in the bathroom would be forgotten.

At least that's how he saw it in his own head. To his shock and dismay when he saw Rod again, the larger teen was giving him this _look_, as if he was watching him like some kind of jungle cat and…wait, was Rod licking his lips? This…this was just more taunting, that was all. Just a false alarm. Nothing to worry about.

When school came to an end, before he could even leave the building, he found himself being pulled aside abruptly and coming face to…chest with Rod who had this hungry gleam in his eyes.

"Remember, you better be there," Rod warned him and this time, Christian felt more than intimidated. He felt scared, no terrified. It was as if the whole day he had spent in denial was in vain!

"No," he said coldly.

"No?" Rod asked presently and his larger hands gripped his smaller wrists tightly. Ow…that was actually starting the hurt a bit. "I don't remember giving you a choice. Would you like to _think_," here Rod increased the pressure on his wrists, "about your answer again? Will you be at 1058 Magnolia Street tonight willingly or will I have to fetch you?"

"Fuck you," he hissed, glaring at the blond, defiant to the end.

"That's what I intend to do to you," Rod quipped back.

"Let go of me you sexist prick," he growled at the blond. "Do you think I won't press charges against your ass? This is fucking sexual harassment."

"Stop being such a stubborn ass," Rod chided him, reprimanding him like he was a fucking child! He leaned in close, just like he had in the bathroom but instead went to a side where he lightly pecked his lips against his ear. But he didn't stop there, oh no, he began to nibble on his earlobe and that by itself sent a tiny thrill of pleasure into his brain. He found himself gasping and in a twist clutching onto his harasser. What the hell was wrong with this picture? "You can't tell me you are interested," Rod breathed into his ear, his oh so sensitive ear. "You're at least curious and you know, I find the best way to deal with curiosity is to satisfy it."

"Curiosity killed the cat," Christian said bluntly, able to gather enough wits to make that one quip.

"But satisfaction brought it back," Rod tacked on. "You know, sometimes you gotta stop listening to this," here he licked his ear, "and start listening with _this_."

Christian jerked as he felt Rod plant one of his hands against his groin and was there something stiff there that he began to notice?

"Your body has the right idea," Rod told him softly, sending chills down his spine. "Listen to it for once and be with me tonight. I'll be gentle."

Was it just him or did those last words sound ominous?

* * *

Going to the mall was one of Bebe's favorite activities, next to fucking and chatting with Wendy. Testaburger, not Wendy 2—er, Gwendolyn. Damn it, that Marsh stupidity was contagious.

"Sharon? Sharon! Where's the crème fraiche?"

"Randy! Are you watching cooking shows _again_?"

"I can stop whenever I want Sharon! I got it totally under control. Now where did they hide the Goddamn crème fraiche?"

Well what do you know, there were Stan's parents over there. Small world, wasn't it?

Back to her, Bebe was in the middle of the South Park Mall though it hadn't been her plan to go here straight after school. It was actually Devin's. Devin seemed really frazzled today and whenever Bebe tried to figure out just what was up with her, the topic would invariably end up on that new kid, Rod.

Did Devin have a crush on the guy? Bebe wouldn't be surprised if she did since Rod was really good-looking. No really, she had had the girl equivalent of a wet dream and guess who was the star of it? No, it wasn't Clyde and a chance to get a free pair of shoes. And it wasn't Kyle's tight ass though damn was it tight. She still wanted to wear it as a hat, even after all these years…

"Bebe, come on! Focus!" Devin demanded. "Which one looks better on me?"

Coming out of her musings, something she never did on a shopping trip because hey, you gotta keep an eye out for the outfit that was just right or a bargain sale where bras were half off. The key to finding the latter was to look out for the perverts and married men who crowded the Victoria's Secret, hoping to find a bra that a woman had tried on so they could sniff them.

However, she was kinda shocked at the choices that Devin was presenting to her. The outfit on Devin's right was one of the sluttiest outfits she had ever seen and don't get her started with the one on the left. Did Devin want people to—wait, it was that Paris Hilton store they were at. What Devin was holding up for inspection was actually pretty conservative.

"Are you trying to get some guy's attention?" she hazarded. "If so, don't you think those don't leave enough to the imagination? I mean, imagination is what gets the guys slobbering over you. It does half the work for you."

"Not with Rod," Devin huffed looking away. "What am I doing wrong Bebe? Why can't I get to second base with him?"

"Maybe you should put the slut stuff down for starters," Bebe advised. "Just put them down and walk away while you still can."

"I don't know if I can," Devin protested. "I'm desperate!"

Oh boy, this was getting complicated. Let's see, what did Bebe know? Well this had to be about Rod and Devin looked as if she was at her wits' end trying to seduce him. Okay, where was the problem? Don't say that Devin is the only girl in the school Rod hasn't been with. No really, don't. It would be that pathetic.

Even she, Bebe, was a little put off when she had found out just how finicky Rod was with the ladies. He was with one girl one day and then with another the next. And apparently Devin wasn't one of those girls. Yet. And she wanted to be with him.

Managing to pull Devin out of the store, Bebe guided the brunette to a bench where they could plop down and rest a bit. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the heaviness of the bags they were holding or the fact they didn't have some stud to carry them for them.

"Okay, speak," Bebe commanded. "Why are you so desperate to be with Rod? Haven't you heard about…?"

"You think I haven't?" Devin snapped. Then, unexpectedly, she sighed. "I know what kind of guy he is. Sort of. I've heard about all the girls he's done and from what I've heard, he's pretty kinky. And good. Real good. I don't want to be the only person he hasn't done! I mean, think of what people would say! I'm the most popular girl in school and I'm like the one person who hasn't gotten in the sack with him. Besides, Stan is busy with that Wendy 2 bitch and any time I've tried to talk with him, nothing much happens. It's like I'm one of the guys to him or something."

Oh, now she saw. Devin was feeling insecure and wanted a good lay to shave off some stress. And knowing Devin as she did, Bebe knew that one Devin had put her mind to something, she would not stop until she did what she needed to do to get what she wanted. Since Devin wanted Rod right now, she would not stop until she had Rod.

Well, maybe Devin could teach Rod a lesson. No matter how handsome he was, the guy needed to learn about a little thing called commitment. That and girls weren't some blow-up dolls that you could screw anytime you wanted.

And while Bebe wanted to stick up for her friends, she also knew that Devin was fickle when it came to friends. Basically, the more popular you were, the more Devin liked you. And the more wild you were when it came to partying, well, you could take it from there. Bebe knew that shopping was really the one thing that bonded the two of them together platonically Without shopping, who knew if they would speak to each other outside of the mall?

"Sounds tough," she said to her friend. "Maybe you should try something different?" she suggested.

"What? New clothes?" Devin asked, looking at her curiously.

"No, I meant try something different with Rod," she told her. "We both know that Stan's a one girl kind of guy so he won't be looking for an affair. Meanwhile, Rod treats you like a friend and you keep throwing yourself at him. Maybe you should play hard to get and see what happens. Guys always want what they can't have."

Devin was soaking up every word she said and Bebe felt ill at ease about that. She didn't want her friend to take her completely at her word, especially with that trusting look the brunette with blonde highlights was giving her. It made her feel uncomfortable and the thought that maybe her suggestion wouldn't work whatsoever came to mind. With Devin in such a state of mind, would she blame her, Bebe, for fucking things up for her if they backfired? She hoped not; Wendy wasn't as good a shopping partner as Devin was.

"Maybe you're right," Devin said quietly. Then she smirked wickedly. "Oh, I know what to do! I'll wear one of my sexy outfits and when he tries to flirt, bam! He can't have none and it'll drive him crazy! Thanks a lot Bebe."

Bebe smiled back at Devin, wondering if she was doing the right thing.

* * *

The sun had set a while ago and Christian found himself on Magnolia Street, heading for the house at 1058. He didn't know why he was doing this but he found he didn't enjoy the prospect of Rod coming after him if he didn't show up.

So you know what, he'll do what the asshole said and get this shit over with. Perhaps he might get the chance and beat the shit out of Rod. Yeah, if he could make his punches be felt through the wall of muscle that was Rod's body.

Well here he was, right in front of the lion's den. Huh, he kinda remembered this place now; he had seen a bunch of movers around it a few weeks ago, back in August if he recalled correctly. Pressing on the doorbell, he squared his shoulders and readied himself for what lay within the place.

With a crack, the door opened slowly, revealing Rod without his leather jacket…or a shirt to cover his muscled upper body as Christian found. He swallowed, suddenly unsure about this.

"Right in time," Rod chuckled. "Come on in. I just got done."

"With what?" Christian asked warily, not taking a step forward.

"Dinner," Rod said lightly. With a hand, he lazily reached out and grabbed the androgynous boy by his shoulder and pulled him in.

Christian thought it quite ominous when he heard Rod shut the door behind him and lock it. To try and take his mind off of what was going on, he took in his new surroundings and not finding any comfort with the modern look he found. There was nothing homely or warm about this place.

He didn't like it.

Two muscular arms wrapped around him while he was distracted and only too late did he realize that Rod was holding him tightly against his body. Great, with his arms pinned against his side, Christian knew that the only weapon he had left was his voice and he could only wonder if anybody would be able to hear him if he screamed.

He jolted and shivered as Rod's lips claimed his ear and Christian was finding just how sensitive of an erogenous zone the piece of flesh was. Yeah, he had done a little research at home while he still could, wondering if there was some kind of fetish out there for ears. Suffice to say, he didn't like what he found instead.

Christ.

The next thing he knew, he found himself being pressed down on a leather sofa and as he tried to grasp the plump, leathered cushions, trying to some kind of purchase, Rod pinned him down using his larger body, the larger teen's pelvis grinding into his ass.

"As I was saying," Rod said softly into his ear, "I'm done with dinner and now it's time for dessert. I'm about to pop your ass cheery, bitch. Be as noisy as you want; no one will hear."

FYI, just so you know, Christian didn't know what hit him.


	15. When Life Comes A'Callin'

Author's Note: First part was suggested to me by ShadowMajin so here's your due credit. Took a bit to figure out how I wanted to do it though, thus the long wait. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

When Life Comes A'Callin'

For once, Bain was not in his room or in the basement torturing his next victim. No, he was in the family room, sitting in his favorite chair with his bare feet propped up on the coffee table, one of his hands balancing the television remote idly while his heterochromatic eyes stared in boredom at the images on the television, the sound of a very stern and passionate woman ringing out from the speakers.

"_Welcome back, this is Jane Velez-Mitchell and right now we are entering into a segment of the broadcast I like to call the 'War on Women,'_" a middle-aged brunette with smooth skin that was currently wrinkled in a grimace, dressed in a colorful ensemble of blues and fuchsia._ "For today's issue, it started as a normal day at the mall when the _unthinkable_ happens. Mary Jane Kimball was just shopping for a gift for her husband for their second anniversary when she was viciously assaulted by a monstrous fiend. Then, in front of everyone, he proceeds to rape her! And this is all on camera!_

"_Joining me tonight to discuss this horrendous issue we have for our panel Precocious Conservative Soccer Mom, the arresting officer Sergeant Harrison Yates, and lastly women's advocate Bram Noser. Now, before we go further into this horrible, _horrible _incident, let's take a look at the footage one more time. For those viewing, I warn you, what you're about to see is shocking and will appall you."_

Bain snorted, readjusting the icepack he had pressed against the side of his face. From the couch, he noticed Charlotte move, her head tilting enough from its position on the armrest to give him an inquisitive look before looking back at the television. Not a peep, hmm? He wasn't surprised; she was still peeved about earlier.

Charlotte has noticed the bruises he had, courtesy of the French fucker, and had worked him over a bit, prying the information out of him bit by bit. At least, that's what she did before she brought out the big gun. He could have sworn that he had gotten over that apple phobia of his…

Suffice to say, she was ticked off at him for agreeing to go along with DeLorne's plan to kidnap his ex so that he could heroically rescue her. Not even waving the few bills that he had gotten out of the deal had cooled her down so now he was going along with the silence when he happened to come upon CNN and its show _Issues_, hosted by Jane Velez-Mitchell and the segment occurring at the moment was one called _War on Women_.

He continued to watch the television screen as the image flickered from a series of box panels, each with the visage of the hostess and her panel guests, to be replaced with a shaking camera, the recorder more than likely using a camera phone to record what was happening. He could see an ordinary woman who was most likely Mary Jane Kimball loaded with purchases and speaking with another woman beside her who looked like her friend. From where the camera phone was, anyone could hear Mary Jane say out loud, _"A gift for him? Ha! These are for me! He's got the money and I'm gonna spend it all, honey!"_

Coming out from a side of the recording, an ordinary guy, so Bain surmised, walks by and barely bumps his hand into hers. Mary Jane stops in her tracks and drops everything, falling onto her butt as if she had been shoved instead of barely clipped. The man stops and looks back at her strangely.

"_Uh, miss, are you all right?"_

Uh oh, Bain thought to himself. Here it comes.

"_RAPE! I'VE BEEN RAPED!" _Mary Jane shrieked, sounding like she was being murdered.

Almost immediately, a crowd began to gather, coming to the woman's aide and giving the guy dirty looks. The guy looked confused and looked around, trying to figure out what was going on.

"_Did—did you see?" _Mary Jane continued to bawl. _"He raped me!" _she pointed straight at the confused guy. _"I didn't even do anything to deserve it!"_

"_What? But I barely touched you!" _the guy cried out, shocked by what he was being accused of.

"_Oh my God, he admits it!" _Mary Jane's friend cried out, pointed a well-manicured finger at the guy.

"_I didn't rape her!" _the guy protested.

"_That's what they all say!" _Mary Jane's friend shot back.

"_What seems to be the problem_?" a police officer who bore a startling resemblance to Sergeant Harrison Yates, one of the panelists mentioned earlier._ "Ma'am, are you all right?"_

"_He raped me!" _Mary Jane sobbed, pointing straight at her assaulter.

"_I didn't do anything," _the guy exclaimed.

"_Silence, you're under arrest!" _the Yates lookalike bellowed as he pulled out a can of mace and began spraying the peppery mixture into the guy's eyes, the guy screaming and covering his eyes in agony.

The recording cuts off to the face of Jane Velez-Mitchell who looks as solemn as she had right at the beginning of the segment._ "Horrifying," she states. "As you can see, what was supposed to be a simple shopping trip meant to celebrate a joyous occasion was horribly ripped apart. Now, here on War on Women, we will discuss what this monster deserves."_

Pah, that moron wouldn't know a monster if he was tearing her still beating heart out of her body. A war on women? If just bumping your wrist against a woman's was a war, then he was Armageddon. Ignoring how the first panelist, the Precocious Conservative Soccer Mom didn't know what the hell she was talking about, he told Charlotte exactly what he had been thinking.

"Only you would think that highly of yourself," Charlotte rolled her eyes, dismissing him.

"Not getting the comparison, are you?" he asked snidely.

"Oh, I get it," she told him. "I just don't think you're the Armageddon facing women and instead more of the bane of their existence. Or should I say Bain of their existence?"

"Ha, ha, ha," he retorted dryly. "Such a sense of humor; you should be a fucking comedian."

"I know, right?" she replied smoothly. "I'm a riot."

"Or the cause of one."

"Can't argue with you on that one," she shrugged. "Then again, I wasn't the one who turned everyone in school into human popsicles."

"Still impressed by that masterpiece?" he smirked at her. "I can't blame you; they still haven't gotten enough evidence to pin it on me."

"Whatever," she rolled her eyes again. Bain could tell; there was an inflection in her voice that told him so, even when he didn't have a direct line of sight at her eyes. "I'd say any infamy you had got canceled out by that stunt you pulled with Christophe, which by the way I am still going to have a word with."

For once, Bain winced in sympathy for the French national. Charlotte didn't hold back on any of her punches, a detail he knew quite intimately. However, he wasn't about to try and argue for her to go easy on the bastard. He still despised the very air "ze Mole" breathed and any opportunity there was to make his life miserable, Bain was going to take it.

He turned his attention back to the television, lamenting the death of each individual brain cell that was unable to endure the biased torment being broadcasted as he continued to watch the feminine-heavy spectacle of a bitch on her period defending another who was essentially playing the boy who cried wolf…or girl in this case, the Precocious Conservative Soccer Mom making a fool of herself on national television, Sergeant Yates was yet again giving the Park County Police a bad name, and the third panelist was brown-nosing and agreeing with everything the others said.

"_That perp deserves to have a baton shoved so far up his ass that he'll be tasting plastic for the next twenty-five to life."_

"_I wholeheartedly agree with that,"_ Bram Noser agreed.

"_Yeah, men are pigs and dumb,"_ Precocious Conservative Soccer Mom said perkily.

"_You are absolutely right,"_ Bram Noser agreed.

Growling, Bain swiftly changed the channel, this time to a for-T.V. movie involving a masked slasher star gut the hell out of anyone that physically crossed his path, which oddly enough were a lot of women.

How's this for a war on women?

* * *

"Don't take it personally," Gary pleaded as he leaned his weight against the locked bathroom door, trying to make himself heard to the occupant within. "I'm sure Stan throws up on a lot of people."

"But it was so humiliating!" Kyra sobbed from the other side. "It was so warm and icky and I think he had oatmeal for breakfast!"

"You forgot about the toasted bread crusts," Gary pointed out, wincing when Kyra's wail increased in pitch for a second. Okay, maybe pointing out that Stan also had toast for breakfast was not the smartest thing he could have done.

Damn, he hadn't thought something like this would have happened. He had thought that Stan would probably say "hi, nice to meet you," and other stuff along those lines, not regurgitate his breakfast on her. If there was anyone at fault here, it had to be his. Maybe the pattern on the outfit he had picked out for Kyra made Stan nauseous? Was that it?

Okay, time for some damage control. He had to get Kyra out of the bathroom before she came upon any razors that she might try to use to slit her wrists, the last thing he wanted her to do. Wait, were there any razor?

"Kyra? Can you open the door?" he asked worriedly, a hand gripping the doorknob tightly so that at the slightest amount of movement from it, he would be aware of it. "I just want to help."

"But I'm covered in hydrochloric acid!" Kyra wailed.

"Didn't Lady Gaga have an outfit like it?" he asked, hoping against hope that the fashion disaster of an entertainer might have some kind of subliminal effect on his friend.

"Oh my God, she would wear someone's stomach acid as a dress!" Kyra exclaimed. "Must. Wash. Off!"

"Can I help?" he called through the door, mentally knocking himself for bringing up Lady Gaga. He should have remembered Kyra had grown out of that phase already…

"No! I look so horrible! No wonder Stan threw up on me!" she cried.

"We can fix this!" Gary pleaded to her. "There must have a reason he did that. He probably had a stomach flu or something. Come on, what are the odds something like that happens?"

To his surprise, Kyra rattled off some statistic that for some reason made a lot of sense to him. Huh, so 42 really is the meaning of life. You learned something new every day. Wait, where was he going with this? Back to the matter at hand.

"Look, let's get you cleaned up," he said, trying to sound like he had some authority in this situation. "Have a hot bath, put some bubbles in there or something and I'll make something like soup. What kind of soup do you like anyway? Just open the door so that I can make sure you're okay, okay?"

"No!"

This was going to be much harder than he thought.

* * *

"I know you girls are wondering why I brought you here today," Wendy started, her eyes boring into her captive audience.

"Damn right," Roxi interrupted. "I was busy watching a marathon of 'Where Are They Now: Coon and Friends,' followed by 'Behind the Blow: Mintberry Crunch.'"

"Why are you watching those?" Wendy asked, frowning slightly at the interruption.

"To try and figure out who Mysterion is!" Roxi exclaimed. "I swear, I think he's making a comeback."

"But Mysterion is—" Wendy began to say only to be interrupted again by her other audience member.

"Just get to the point already," Mari cut in. "There's a concert over in Denver and I don't want to miss it."

"Okay, okay, sheesh," Wendy grumbled. "Alright, I was thinking that maybe this has gone on long enough. I think that I should get back together with Stan again."

"Again?" Roxi and Mari said simultaneously.

"What?" Wendy asked, frowning for sure this time.

"You know you're probably going to break up with him again," Mari drawled out.

"Yeah, something's going to set one of you off and the next thing you know, the two of you are going to be arguing in the middle of the school hallway, again, but not about whether Sigourney Weaver is an appropriate model for girls of all ages," Roxi added.

"Well she is!" Wendy defended. "How many respectable female action heroes do you see nowadays?"

"You have a point," Roxi admitted. "There's been no other gal out there who can kick some serious alien butt."

"Exactly!" Wendy declared.

"How do you say 'off topic'?" Mari deadpanned. "What does Sigourney Weaver have to do with you getting back together with Stan?"

"What?" Wendy asked, confused. Then she realized just what she had been talking about beforehand and almost slapped her hand on her face at how easily she had gotten sidetracked. "Sorry about that, me and Stan. Well, I think it's getting about that time that Gwendolyn gets let off the hook. We all know how dysfunctional that relationship is."

"So this is for a humanitarian reason?" Mari asked. "For some reason, I don't think that's it."

"Yeah, you're right," Roxi agreed. "You would have ended that relationship a long time ago if it is as you say it is."

"Could it be there's something else behind this change of heart?" Mari mused out loud.

"Oh come on!" Wendy protested. "Do you think I have some ulterior motive or something? Who do you think I am, Cartman?"

"Maybe not as bad as him," Roxi shrugged. "I mean, you've had your bad days."

"Bad days?" Wendy repeated. "What bad days? Name one, I dare you!"

"Well there was that one time you helped ostracized that one kid with amnesia," Mari counted, holding up a hand with one finger extended.

"Who was that kid again?" Roxi asked. "I don't remember much about that except that we ostracized him."

"Who cares?" Mari replied. "Anyway, there was that time you tried to run Raisins out of business by saying they were a front for a white slavery ring and violated several health code violations. I think everyone was in an uproar about the health code violations." A second finger raised up.

"Okay, I get it," Wendy grumbled, looking to a side.

"You tried to get the legislature to pass a bill that required women who were trying to get an abortion to watch a sonogram before they went through with the operation," Roxi pointed out.

"Dead fetuses have rights! They're living creatures!" Wendy argued.

A third finger rose up.

"Oh! And what about that time you got that mad scientist guy to create a Franken-Farrah Fawcett that was infected with a kind of super-AIDS and sent it out to punish all the married guys in South Park?"

"They were cheating and participating in homoerotic orgies!" Wendy defended. "And what do you care if it was AIDS?"

"It wasn't just AIDS!" Roxi shot back. "It was super-AIDS! It's super! That's what makes it special!"

Mari raised two fingers at that.

"Hey! That was just one thing!" Wendy protested.

"You brought Farrah Fawcett back to life to make a point and brought super-AIDS into the world," Mari replied. "That counts for two."

"Alright, so I did some horrible things," Wendy admitted, throwing her arms up in the air exasperatedly. "But how is it horrible for me to get back with Stan?"

"Besides it being a waste of time?" Roxi suggested.

Looking at her watch, Mari looked back at Wendy and stated, "Okay, you have five minutes. Then I'm out of here. If you want to get back with Stan so bad, give him a call, say you learned your lesson or something and he'll take you back just like he always does."

"Take me back?" Wendy blinked, taken aback. "He's not taking me back, I'm taking _him_ back."

"Whatever, he'll think otherwise so why not go with it," Mari rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, he'll dump Wendy 2…I mean Gwendolyn like that," Roxi added, snapping her fingers for emphasis. "I mean, it's kinda obvious the cliché he's going through even though he doesn't seem to be falling for her like in the movies."

"I know," Wendy agreed. "He still calls her that ridiculous name and you can kinda tell that the reason he picked Gwendolyn out was for her body. I feel sorry for her to be in such a situation."

"Yeah, and she doesn't see it," Roxi added. "I think she's still in fangirl phase or she's in denial. Even if Stan agrees to dump her, I don't think she'd want to let him go. She wants the happily ever after like we all do."

"Great, now I feel like a homewrecker," Wendy sighed.

* * *

Randy Marsh hummed a song to himself as he finished up his latest report, dotting his i's and crossing his t's. Normally he'd half-ass doing this but he was in a good mood today and actually felt like doing his work for once, even though it wasn't cooking.

Cooking was dumb anyway.

He wasn't at all fazed when the phone on his desk began ringing and without taking his eyes off his report, he picked up the receiver and held it up to his ear.

"This is Marsh," he greeted mindlessly.

"_Mr. Marsh? This is your doctor. I have the results from your last lab work,_" the voice on the other end answered.

"Really?" he asked, dividing his attention from his report though not giving it fully to the call. "Great as always?"

"_Mr. Marsh, are you sitting down?_"

"Yeah," he said slowly, wondering what this was all about.

"_Well, we found something…_"

Randy kept quiet for once, listening intently as the doctor informed him of what was going on. The silence remained for a minute or so and Randy said nothing until finally, he spoke in a quiet voice.

"Oh my God."

* * *

"Really worried about Christian," Sawyer said out loud, laying back on the bed that Christophe had generously allowed him to use while staying with the Frenchman. He stared up at the ceiling, not looking to who he was talking to as he continued to chat. In his hands, he held onto the shell of Killer who had his legs pulled in and his head peeking out slightly, his black beady eyes staring straight ahead but not appearing to say anything.

"No seriously, he looked troubled," Sawyer continued to speak. "Today he was limping for some reason. I tried to keep an eye on him and see if he was hurt anywhere but I couldn't see any bruises. And whenever I tried to talk with him, he gave me the cold shoulder.

"Did I do something wrong? He won't talk to me. Do you think that Rod guy might have something to do with it? I mean, I did see him come out of the bathroom just before I saw Christian."

Killer said absolutely nothing and made no move to do anything.

"Hmm," Sawyer pondered. "You might have a point. It could be that Rod had nothing to do with it but I have this gut feeling, you know? There's something about that guy, I swear. I mean, when he first came here, he seemed like an ordinary guy, nothing wrong at all and hot as hell…don't fucking laugh man, seriously. I'm over than denial phase, really.

"What? Don't believe me? C'mon, I mean it this time! I kinda figured it out when Christophe stuck his tongue halfway through my throat and then there was the other stuff. He's a good guy, you know? Wanted to get back together with his ex but didn't regret all the experimenting we did. Wish we might've gone further.

"Huh, wasn't I talking about something before?"

Killer was not of much help in helping his out. Sawyer wasn't really surprised by that, though so let it go.

Oh wait, that's right.

"Christian. Right," he stated as it all came back to him. "I wonder what's going on with him? He's so unapproachable. He's like an Ice Queen…er, King, whatever. Maybe it's because he chooses to be himself or something and I can respect that, really. Should I try harder or something?"

When Killer said nothing, Sawyer sighed and rolled around onto his stomach, his hands still on either side of his shelled pet. However, this new position allowed him to look straight into his turtle's black eyes and know without question where Killer was looking back at him.

"You think I should bring Christophe into this?" he asked bluntly. "He for sure can find out what's going on with Christian. But do you think he'd charge me? I mean, he is a mercenary and everything and I don't have that much to pay him for. Is it really that hard though to collect information? Just talk to a few people and see if they know anything, hard right? It sounds easy. Hell, I could do it!

"Maybe I should start with asking Rod about it, just to make sure he has nothing to do with it. You know, innocent until proven guilty. If he's as good a guy as I hope he is, he won't try to block me or anything. Heh, we could become friends if it came to that though I don't think I like how he goes from girl to girl all the time.

"But Christian is the important thing here. Gotta remember that. You'll help me out with that, right Killer?"

If Killer had eyelids, Sawyer would have sworn he would have blinked at him. He'd take it as a yes.

* * *

Rod was in a great mood. He felt as if he was on top of the world, especially after last night. Man, that was the thing about doing guys: they had only one hole and it was tight, so much so that you could get more pleasure from it that from a woman's vag. That didn't stop him from looking at women because he was a man, damn it. He liked his fun bags as much as the other guy did.

So, feeling refreshed and in a good mood, Rod decided to go trolling around town…on foot of course since his parents hadn't gotten back to him on getting him some new wheels yet. He was going to have to do something about this issue even if he had to bug them at all hours of the night. They were home only rarely so that meant driving up the phone bill to obscene levels. Nothing would get their attention faster than going after their wallets.

As he strolled down the sidewalk, noticing a few adults here and there doing yard work or chatting with one another, he passed by the same construction site that he had noticed on his first day in this town. No one was there doing anything, making the site look more abandoned than anything. Stupid town wanting to build something new and then stopping halfway through it. They really ought to either finish it up or tear it down. How was keeping that iron skeleton of steel girders going to help anyone?

It was an eyesore. And ugly. Can't forget ugly.

He found himself crossing the street to get as far away from the construction site as possible, put off by the sight of it. Wait, why was he letting that thing get to him? He had ignored it for days on end and now it was intruding on him? Well fuck that, he'd find someone to hang out with or something, maybe even screw. Now that would be great.

Speaking of great, he saw a car pass by and he thought he recognized Brianna riding in it. Ah yes, Brianna, one of his targets who had yet to fall but he knew that she was close, oh so very close. Just a little push and he was sure he'd land her. Hell, he'd keep her around, probably do her a couple times then look elsewhere for some poon tang.

He always did have a soft spot for bookworms. It was a bookworm that made him who the person he was today and he didn't begrudge her a minute. It was a shame about that accident but hey, shit happens and it was best to look ahead than behind. And ahead laid Brianna underneath him or so he envisioned.

He turned around and headed for his new destination which was different from his earlier one being as it was just walking around aimlessly. He had taken Brianna home a couple times before when she had asked him for a ride after school so he didn't need to wander around and hope he got lucky even though that was what he was doing anyway.

About five minutes later, he was only a block away from Brianna's house when it occurred to him that she might not be home. Oh that little minx just loved messing with him, didn't she? Always had to play hard to get. Well, it was the hard to get that were the most rewarding.

As he approached the front door, he straightened out his leather jacket and fixed his peaked hat before raising a finger up to ring the doorbell. He then assumed a relaxed stance and let his eyes half close to make him look more at ease than he really was. He wasn't nervous at all, just excited but he didn't want Brianna to know that. Image was everything here; you don't show another person what you're thinking, especially in public.

You tell them when they ask and only then you make sure what you say is not something they wouldn't expect.

His eyes lit up as he heard the doorknob turn and the door slowly open to reveal that Brianna indeed was home. She had probably caught a ride from someone or something but from where, he honestly didn't care.

"Rod?" she asked, blinking her eyes in confusion, more than likely wondering what he was doing here.

"Was a bit scared there that you weren't home," he told her, placing his weight on one of his legs. "Thought that maybe I missed you. Can I come in?"

"Sure," she shrugged as she held the door out wider. "My mom's home, though, so I don't know what you mean to do here."

So her mom was home, huh? This put a twist on things. The added element of being caught was always something that made his heart pound faster and send blood racing to all corners of his body, his veins filled with adrenaline. This was just getting better and better.

As he trekked further into her house, he spotted the stairs nearby and angled himself towards them. "Are you saying you don't want me here or something? I'd like to meet your mom. She must be cool like you."

"Please tell me you aren't watching the Disney Channel," Brianna deadpanned. "Only something as dumb as that would come from that channel."

Rod winced; crap she was right. Okay, he could roll with this. "Actually, that was the first thing that came to mind," he said honestly. "I haven't watched the Disney Channel since I was five, it's been that long."

"So what do you watch now?" Brianna asked pointedly as she closed the front door.

"This and that," he answered vaguely. "What's that matter anyway?"

"Why are you going up the stairs?" Brianna asked instead.

Damn, she caught him. "I'm just worried your mom might have as sharp a tongue as you do," he said, laying out some of the charm. "We can save introductions until later, you know?"

"Whatever," Brianna rolled her eyes and she took the lead and passed him, heading up the stairs. "Don't really care what you're up to; I got two tests to study for so I'm not in the mood."

"Tough classes?" he hazard as he followed her, his booted feet barely making the whisper of a sound with each step he took.

"Calculus," Brianna said dismissively. "That's the easier one but it doesn't hurt to study for it anyway."

"Mind explaining it to me?" he suggested as he tucked one of his hands into a jacket pocket, feeling out the object he had in there. Yep, he could feel fuzz and body-warmed metal.

"Do you really think you can understand it?" Brianna quipped back. "I've the impression that you don't take learning very seriously."

"It depends on the learning," he replied. "Talk mathematics to me and we'll see if I'm as dumb as you think I am."

"I never said you were dumb," Brianna said quickly, "but since you're asking for it, sure, whatever. Just come in my room."

He fully had the intention of doing that.

As Brianna entered into a room seemingly at random, Rod gripped the fuzzy handcuffs he kept in his jacket pocket in the event he found himself answering a booty call today. He closed the door behind him and sealed Brianna's fate.

Jackpot.

* * *

A lot of preparation had gone into this but Sunny was sure that it was going to be worth it. Reading further into the book she had taken from the Goth kids, she had discovered an interesting chapter on making a hoodoo doll.

Yeah, she was confused on that too when she read it. She had to go onto Wikipedia to find out the meaning behind it. Did you know that voodoo is actually a religion and hoodoo is the magical application of that religion? Sunny hadn't known that though it was after she had watched the _Skeleton Key_ and rolled her eyes at her "duh" moment.

Really, she wasn't even blonde. She had electric pink hair for crying out loud.

Anyway, after having Towelie help out by getting some of the materials she needed (do you know how hard it was to find horse hair bathed in murky swamp water and dried under the light of a full moon?), she had her hoodoo doll complete except for one final ingredient.

She needed a "fragment" of her intended victim, so the book said. She took this to mean something like a hair or a piece of cloth. Unfortunately, she was at a dead end here as Rod had never left anything at her house. She couldn't have Towelie go over to his house and take something because he had gotten high again and wandered off and she didn't have it in her to commit a breaking and entering.

She had wracked her brain, trying to figure out what she was going to do, practically biting her lip until it bled. Her attempt to sic a demon at the bastard had backfired spectacularly and she didn't want this to come to nothing too. How was she going to get a piece of Rod's clothes or a strand of his hair? And without him knowing?

She was going to have to stalk him again, wasn't she? Well, if she followed him long enough, she was bound to find her opportunity.

Maybe that would be best. Then she could humiliate him at school in front of everyone. Oh yeah, that was how she would hurt him the most.

For the first time in a _long_ time, Sunny actually looked forward to school.

* * *

Stan had been having a good day today. Scratch that, not a good day, a _fantastic_ day. Something had happened today that had made him drop everything and want to yodel in the Rockies in joy.

Wendy had called him, though it was from someone else's phone (damn it), and had told him that she wanted to get back together again. By God, his plan had worked! Take that world! Take that everyone who had doubted him! Take that…that…well whatever else he couldn't recall at the moment, take that!

They had met up at Tweak's Coffeehouse, a place he rarely went to due to the fact there was a large burnt mark on one wall that no matter how hard someone tried to scrub it, it would never come off.

It kinda reminded him of something volcanic…or demonic since there was a similar brunt mark where Shakey's used to be.

Anyway, where was he? Right, meeting with the love of his life, his soulmate, and becoming an item like they always should have been. He could feel himself fall in love with that raven-haired girl with those lovely eyes that made him melt and feel unmanly sensations. In the back of his mind, though, something was nagging at him, trying to distract him from enjoying the moment that he had worked a little over a month for.

He was going to Goddamn enjoy it too, fuck whoever tried to ruin this moment!

And ruined it soon was when he got a call from his mother, telling him to hurry home. His father had something to tell all of them and he needed them home.

That meant he had to leave in the middle of Wendy accepting him back…Goddamn it! He had to rush through things this time, telling Wendy that he would love to be her boyfriend again but first he had to break it off with Wendy 2 and before any of that could happen, he had to get home because his parents were not giving him the choice otherwise.

Wendy, somehow, understood and told him to hurry home because it could be important. God bless that girl's heart; he wondered why they had broken up in the first place…

Anyway, the minute he got home, he noticed the tense atmosphere. Everything was quiet and there was this tension as if the end of the world was about to happen. He could see his mom and Shelly sitting on the couch, Shelly looking at him expectantly while his mother tried to get his father to tell them what was going on. Right next to the couch was his grandfather who had yet to die even after all this time and he was complaining about how he couldn't hear the television even though it was turned off.

Looks like it was showtime.

"Stan, you're here. Good," his father said solemnly. "Take a seat on the couch. There's something I need to tell all of you and it would be better for all of you to hear it at the same time."

Stan looked warily back at the scene before him. "This isn't another intervention again, is it?" he asked cautiously. "I swear to God that I am over Heroin Hero. Honest."

"If only it were that simple," his father sighed. "Just please, take a seat Stan. You're going to want to be sitting down when you hear this."

Stan swallowed, the tension finally getting to him as he took his seat, sitting next to his mother and across from his father. It was then he noticed how old his father looked, as if he had been through two world wars and lived to tell the tale. He knew that look anywhere, Grandpa had the same look though it was usually when he was asking him to hold a strange looking rope or handle a loaded shotgun that just happened to have the safety off and accidently shoot towards Kenny who went crying off like a pussy.

For some reason, he felt like a bastard…

"Sharon. Shelly. Stan. Dad," his father addressed each and every one of them. "I got a call from the doctor today and he had something important to tell me. You see, something came up on my lab work from my last check-up."

"What is it?" his mom asked, fear coating her voice. Stan found that fear contagious as he too was beginning to sit on the edge of his seat.

"Well? What is it dad?" Shelly demanded though Stan could hear the worry in her voice. She too was feeling that they were about to hear something that none of them wanted to know about.

His father sighed. "Well, it's like this. They found it in some of my blood work and they retested it to be sure that what they saw was what they saw."

This was it, he was about to spill…

"Guys," his father said solemnly, "I have super-AIDS."

Silence. That was the only word that could describe what it was like. No one said anything as they stared at the man of the house in horror. That silence, though was soon broken by none other than Grandpa.

"Goddamn it! How come you get all the deadly diseases!" the senile old man complained.

Everyone ignored him, used to hearing this kind of outburst.

"You have AIDS?" his mom nearly shrieked.

"Super-AIDS," his father corrected softly.

"What…? But…? How in the hell did you get AIDS?" she demanded, almost looking crazed.

"It's not AIDS, Sharon, it's super-AIDS," his father defended. "That means it's special. And anyway, I don't know how! Someone with the disease could have spit in my mouth while I was sleeping at work. I could have drunk from the same beer bottle by accident. I could have sat on a super-AIDS infected toilet seat. I don't know! No one knows how you get it!"

Stan continued to stare at his father as the implications of what he had heard dawned on him. His dad had an incurable disease and he would probably be dead by the end of the year. Once again someone he cared about was heading to death's door. First it was Kyle with his kidneys, then it was Kenny with muscular dystrophy, and now it was his father's turn with AIDS.

This…this couldn't get any worse.

"I don't have a lot of time," his father said, looking drawn. "I'm probably not going to make it through the end of the week…or is it Thanksgiving? I'm not sure, no one is. Anyway, I figure I should do my part while I can and spread super-AIDS awareness…starting at Stan's school."

Correction, it could get worse. A lot worse.

"Dad! Don't!" he protested. "I know what you're going to do and whatever it is, the guys will rip on me forever!"

"Stanley Marsh! What do you have against people with super-AIDS?" his father demanded.

"Nothing!" he exclaimed. "I just have something against you coming to my school and lecturing about something that will make you look more retarded than you already are!"

"Sharon, this is all your fault!" his father turned towards his mom. "I told you we shouldn't raise him to have free will but did you listen? Oh no, you didn't and now we have a boy who speaks his mind!"

"Maybe you should go to bed and get your rest," his mom suggested though she gave a look to Stan, saying that she was going to have a talk with him later. "You need to conserve as much energy as possible to fight your AIDS."

"Super-AIDS," his father corrected softly.

Meanwhile as Sharon Marsh tried to convince Randy Marsh to take it easy and not potentially ruin his son's life ("But I already called up the school and had an assembly set up!), Stan found himself suddenly being dragged to a side by none other than Shelly who had said, "Come with me turd."

He had learned a long time ago not to defy his older sister. The consequences were usually traumatizing.

"Look, turd, I'm not happy about hearing dad has AIDS," Shelly said to him once they were in another room, the kitchen to be exact, far away from the disaster that was their father. "And I sympathize with you. I wouldn't want dad coming to my school to raise awareness about anything but he's dying and you're just going to have to suck it up. Got it turd?"

"But Shelly!" he whined, hoping to appeal to her sense of mercy. "You know what he's like! It's going to be so embarrassing!"

Mercy was not found. "Dad is dying and you are going to treat him like a king," she told him, grabbing him by the front of his letterman jacket and bringing him face-to-face with her. "Now, I'm going to be heading back to college and if I hear anything about you making him miserable, I am going to fucking destroy you, turd. There won't even be a stain left when I'm through with you, do you understand?"

"Shelly," he tried one last time.

"Do you understand?" Shelly snarled into his face.

Stan swallowed. "Yes Shelly."

"Good turd, I'm glad we have an understanding," she said.

At that time, Grandpa scooted by in his motorized wheelchair and happened to come across the scene between the two siblings. He stared at the two for a moment before suddenly snapping, "Goddamn it, you're strangling the wrong person! I'm right here you know! Why is it that you peckerwoods always try to kill the wrong people, huh?"

The two siblings blinked dumbly at the extremely elder men before they both realized their positions.

"Goddamn turd," Shelly hissed as she shoved him away. Because this was Shelly, a simple shove wasn't a simple shove. It was more like she threw him halfway across the kitchen where he slammed into the refrigerator hard enough that the large appliance almost toppled onto him. Fortunately that didn't happen but it did earn him more enmity from Grandpa.

"Oh sure, you nearly get killed and you're barely legal to drink! Damn it, this isn't fair!" the old man complained as he wheeled away.

"Stan!" he heard his mother call from back in the family room. "Help me restrain your father! He's trying to electrocute himself again!"

He hated his family. He really, _really_ hated his family.


	16. Do that Voodoo that You Do So Well

Author's Note: Congratulations to ShadowMajin for being the 118th reviewer, you have officially made _Fiends _my most reviewed South Park fic to date. What, thought I was going to give a special thanks to the 100th reviewer? I've gotten over 100 reviews for a story before so it's not new to me. Anyway, with this chapter, _Fiends_ will have a higher word count that _Dance of the Devils_, making it my longest, word-wise, South Park fanfiction as well. Now, if you guys really want to impress me, get me up to 200 reviews and I might do something special for that lucky reviewer.

Now, this has to be one of my most offensive chapters ever and yet one of the more in character ones. Well, wherever Randy Marsh is concerned, you gotta expect something offensive. On another note, another setup for Zephyr Morpheus Lee's _Hell's Babysitter_ can also be found in this chapter. ZML, it's been awhile since your last update, hasn't it? Anyway, enjoy and try not to get too offended. Seriously.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, offensive language and actions, violent death

Do that Voodoo that You Do So Well

It wasn't enough that he had to put up with his kind of family. Oh no, Stan couldn't have a halfway decent life where strange things only occurred once in a while.

Instead, he had to live with Randy Marsh.

Enough said.

"Dude, what is your dad on now?" Kyle sighed from beside him as he sat next to him, his chin resting on his hands from where his elbows were propped up on his knees, his back bent to accommodate his position.

"Dude, if I knew I would have taken it away from him a long time ago," he answered dully.

Kyle peered over at him as if he had picked up on something from the jock's voice. "Did the break-up go that badly?" he asked.

Stan would have looked surprised had he not been depressed over the impending disaster that was about to hit him in the name of his father's assembly on spreading AIDS—excuse him, super-AIDS awareness. Nonetheless, Kyle had hit the nail on the head.

You see it, went something like this:

"_Hey Wendy 2—"_

"_How many times have I told you not to fucking call me that?"_

"_Yeah…well, anyway, I've had a great time going out with you but I think we should see new people. I'm breaking up with you."_

"…"

"_I understand if you think this is sudden but I feel this isn't working out so it's best we call it off before one of us gets too attached. I hope you don't take this too personally and I guess I'll see you around."_

"…"

"_That's it, I suppose."_

"_You fucking son of a bitch!"_

And that was why he was sporting a black eye. He knew she was pissed; he could feel her gaze boring into his back and he shivered. Did the temperature drop a couple degrees in here? Dammit, why were girls so clingy anyway? He might have to follow Kyle's example.

No, scratch that, he was a titties man. Boobs and vag all the way. He was so straight he made the Eiffel Tower look bent. Take that Frenchies.

"Alright, Stan, what the hell is going on?" Cartman demanded as he sat down on the other side of the jock. He waited for the ominous creak from the bleachers, warning that they were seriously on the verge of collapsing from the sheer amount of weight placed impossibly on them but instead only got the wafting scent of Cheezy Poofs. "What retarded thing is your dad doing this time because I swear ta God that I will fuckin' kill you if he's here to be the cafeteria chef again."

"I wish it was just that," Stan grumbled in response

"Wow, it must be really bad if you're wanting him to be obsessed with the Food Network again," Kyle commented, eyes widening only slightly to display his sudden interest. He soon raised an eyebrow as he took in Cartman and asked, "Hey, are you gaining weight Cartman? You look like a blimp."

"Ay! Shut your Goddamn mouth you fucking Jew! I'm just big-boned!" Cartman snarled.

"Screw you Fatass!" Kyled snarled back, straightening up as he sat up, glaring back at Cartman.

Stan felt quite uncomfortable sitting between the two eternal nemeses. The powers of their combined glares were close to making him foam at the mouth and collapse in an epileptic seizure though that would only be a blessing as he would then be unconscious and unaware of the horrors Randy Marsh was about to unleash upon their school.

"Your attention? May I have you attention please, m'kay?" Mr. Mackey spoke over the loud speakers. However, the noise level in the gymnasium didn't decrease. If anything it increased as if to spite him. Sighing, the elder man with the oversized head took a page out of Mr. or Ms. or whatever gender he was at this time Garrison's book and held the microphone up to one of the speakers.

As a result, every teenager screamed in agony at the amplified screech and fell silent in case he tried to do again.

"M'kay, students, now that I have your attention," Mr. Mackey began again, "I know you would rather be in class doing quadratic formulas and reading about William Shakespeare, m'kay, but we have something important for you to learn about today so please keep quite throughout the assembly and allow Mr. Marsh to inform you of an important issue that affects the world today. Mr. Marsh, it's all yours."

As Mackey stood aside, giving up the mic to Randy Marsh who walked up to take his place, Stan groaned and placed his face into his hands. "Oh God no."

"I appreciate that you all came out to listen to me today," Randy began, "but before I go further, there is one thing I'd like to say first. South Park Cows! Number 1! Yeah!"

He was answered with deafening silence as none of the gather teens, who were there against their will, said anything. At least that was until Butters stood up and cried out "Yeah!" Noticing he was the only one to do so, he looked down in shame and sat back down.

Randy, though, was oblivious to all this because in his imagination, he heard nothing but an agreeing cheer. "Yeah! That's right! All the way to the championship baby!"

Stan felt for certain that whatever humiliation he was feeling right now, he was nowhere near the end of it. If only he had a gun on him…

"Sorry kids, just had to get that out first," Randy continued. "Whoo! Been holding that one back for quite some time. Anyway, allow me to tell you why I have called for you to be here. I am going to inform of a very, _very_ serious problem. I am super, super serious about this. Boys and girls, I am here to tell you all about super-AIDS."

Stan felt a little bit of himself die right then and there.

"Super-AIDS is a radical new disease that has popped up over the last few years," Randy explained. "At first it was believed only lesbians could get it. Then it was thought that it was spread by the great Chuck Norris as a practical joke to try and flush out anyone not Mr. T who could take him on in an arm-wrestling contest. Finally, it was figured out that it did come from a single carrier, an actress by the name of Farrah Fawcett who was giving it to any guy she came across."

At this, unbeknownst to Stan, Wendy shrank in on herself in shame, trying to ignore some of the pointed looks she was receiving from some nearby students.

"It is not known how super-AIDS spreads. It is known, though, that it kills one hundred percent of everyone who contracts it fifty-seven percent of the time. Except for Chuck Norris who contracted it twice and beat it twenty-seven times. It is believed that a person can get super-AIDS through various means, such as touching someone who has super-AIDS or touching an object that a person with super-AIDS has touched which includes crab-infested toilet seats."

A brave soul suddenly piped up, "Couldn't you get it from sex?"

Randy stared in the general direction of whoever spoke. "That's retarded. You're retarded. Quite thinking of retarded things."

A voice that was obviously Jimmy Valmer's said, "I-I take of-offense to that."

"I didn't mean retarded like that!" Randy protested quickly, trying to clean up the potential mess he was getting in. "Wait, who's the spokesman of retarded people? That David Nelson midget guy?"

Oh God, strike him down now before it gets any worse.

"Whatever, I'm not here to talk about retarded people; I'm here to talk about something more serious: super-AIDS. Yeah, it's like a million times more important than retarded people. Anybody who says differently is just a dick. Now where was I? Oh right, the symptoms.

"The symptoms of super-AIDS vary according to person but a general list include death in about a week, nausea, deficient immune system, other AIDS symptoms only like a thousand times worse that regular AIDS. Most people end up dying from it after a couple months. Am I forgetting something? Oh! Oh! Don't forget the diarrhea! There exists no disease known to man that doesn't have diarrhea as a symptom!"

"What about cancer?" another brave student asked.

"Cancer's for lame-o's and getting a free seat on an airplane," Randy said scornfully. "They don't know real suffering until they've had super-AIDS."

More than one person winced at this. Even by their standards, that was bad. It took a minute but Randy realized what it was he had said and rushed to correct himself or at least save some face.

"Not that cancer isn't horrible, no sirree! It's bad and you should wish never to get it. That's right," his voice cracked as he added an awkward chuckle at the end of his last sentence.

"Anyway, super-AIDS has the potential to kill us all if we're not careful. We need to begin fighting this thing now while it's still weak. That's where you kids come in. You are the future and you'll be inheriting the crappy, screwed up world that my generation will be leaving behind. I know it sounds like a daunting task and all but I am sure that you will not only beat this thing but you will pay back all the debts we have racked up trying to support our country."

You could hear crickets chirping, it was that quiet. Stan couldn't watch as his life slowly came to an end. At this point, he could only think that it could only get worse. Time and again his father had proven himself to be able to reach lows not even imagined at the time.

Randy looked from side to side, as if searching for anyone who was still interested in his presentation. There were a few yawns but a majority stared back as if waiting for this to be over so that they could get back to more important things. Randy took this as a sign of approval, oblivious to the fact that by now he had lost his audience.

At this point, Stan could only hope that a teacher or even Mr. Mackey would intervene and say it was all over.

"I can see that you kids are bursting with energy," Randy said cheerfully, "so I'll finish up so you can all get back to studying and becoming geologists, a very important field by the way. My generation had AIDS, regular, ordinary AIDS. Your generation will have to face super-AIDS, the greatest threat to mankind since the Dark Lord Cthulhu arrived to destroy us all and bring about ten thousand years of darkness. I do not envy you and wish you all Godspeed."

Randy continued to smile dumbly, as if waiting for some kind of applause and congratulations for undertaking this most pressing cause. "Um…I'm done now."

There, there was his thundering applause though it was kinda half-hearted and more for the fact that this snoozefest was over. Randy, in his highly deluded mind, could only hear the cheers and heartwarming praise from the students, hearing one shout out "You're amazing Randy!" and a few high school girls scream out "Make love to me Randy! I don't care if you have super-AIDS!"

Meanwhile, Stan was giving his thanks to any higher power/god-like figure out there that had seen fit to end his suffering.

* * *

"What will they come up with next?" Rod grumbled to Brianna as they meandered out of the gymnasium, going with the slow flow of the rest of the kids in school. Beside him, Brianna was walking gingerly, almost limping in a way and Rod, instead of going with his usual M.O. of tossing aside those who he had fucked into the mattress, was keeping pace with her and helping her get around when she began to have too much trouble.

What could he say? He had a soft spot for bookworms.

"Ugh, what was that all about again?" Brianna groaned. "I was too busy paying attention to how sore I am, no thanks to _somebody_ around here."

"AIDS, I think," Rod shrugged.

From beside him, the guy who had been speaking the entire time corrected him softly, "Super-AIDS."

Rod tilted his head towards the man so that he could eye him from the corner of his eye before he shrugged his shoulders, letting anybody who was paying attention know just how much he cared about what the assembly had been about. AIDS, super-AIDS, same difference, who cared? He'd been around and never heard of such a thing before. It was probably just some kind of thing the adults were trying to use to scare them out of having sex. He hadn't been scared off by herpes or gonorrhea or crabs and he was just fine.

He felt something run into from behind and he took a sudden step forward to keep his balance. He snapped a look over his shoulder at whoever had run into him and—hey, wasn't that that Kenny kid? The so-called casanova who hogging up all the other girls? Behind Kenny, he could see that Stan guy and his two other friends and he rolled his eyes at them.

Oh, how mature of them.

"Hey, it's that player asshole!" Eric Cartman called out, pointing a beefy finger straight at him.

"Oh, Rod," Stan said, suddenly smirking smugly at him. "Funny running into you."

By then, Brianna had turned her head around to see what Rod was looking at. "Oh, hey guys." She pointedly looked away from Cartman though for what reason, Rod didn't care to speculate. Huh, was that a bit of guilt he saw in her eyes? Strange.

After greeting Brianna back, Stan turned his focus back onto Rod and said, "By the way, I got back with Wendy yesterday. Just wanted to let you know she's off limits."

Wendy? Why was he talking about Wend—wait, Wendy Testaburger? Then that meant…and he hadn't yet…fuck! What the hell? He had thought that he had been getting somewhere with that geek and now she was back with this dick? Son of a bitch!

"That's nice," Brianna commented, doing her best not to let Stan know that she didn't think much of the news and failing somewhat. It was only because Stan was too wrapped up in his smugness to notice.

Fucking asshole.

Still he was a bit curious about how unexcited Brianna was at hearing about this. Weren't girls suppose to be obsessed with relationships? Especially other people's relationships? Brianna's calmness was, frankly, kinda creeping him out. Not that he would admit or show anybody that was what he felt. Nope, he wouldn't even give a hint of what it was he was feeling.

Still, he was ticked at Stan and maybe a bit towards Wendy for going back to him. They had been apart when he first came here but he had never heard of ex's getting back together after they had split. What kind of idiots do that?

Disgruntled, he showed Stan and his buddies his back and took Brianna by a shoulder, leading her away from the four.

* * *

Sunny was frustrated as she had yet to find an opportunity to get close to Rod without him noticing. She wasn't afraid of anybody else seeing her seeing as how most didn't really care what she decided to do. She could be giving a strip tease in the middle of the cafeteria and everyone wouldn't pay an iota of attention to her.

Not that she was tempted to give a strip tease in the middle of the cafeteria. She was much too shy to do something like that.

Then she saw her chance. Rod was leading Brianna away from Stan and co. and he was heading straight in her direction. As he passed by her without deigning to acknowledge her, she noticed a strand of blond hair on his leather jacket. It stuck out against the dark surface but that was only if you had noticed it. Otherwise it would have blended in.

Not so for Sunny as she had noticed it.

There was no question; that had to be Rod's hair.

It was easy to come up behind him, a bit too easy if she thought about it, especially since most of the morning she had been prevented from even getting in a ten foot radius of him. She would be suspicious but for once, she decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and when she was right next to the asshole, he carefully managed to pluck the hair off his jacket without him being the wiser.

Mission accomplished.

With hair in hand—er, fingers, she slipped away, heading to a quiet spot so that she could finish her hoodoo doll.

Rod, prepare to enter hell.

* * *

Sunny wasn't the only person having trouble getting close to someone that day. Physically speaking, of course.

Sawyer was finding out first hand just how hard it was to find an androgynous guy in the middle of packed hallways and later the gymnasium before going back into packed hallways. He could swear, he would always spot a flash of long brown hair that was about waist length, something that no girl in this school had. Whenever he made his way to the spotting, he would always find nothing and thus be on the hunt again.

He had run into Christophe who too was in the middle of catching up with his rainbow of a friend and he had taken the chance to ask the Frenchman if he had seen Christian. Christophe, though, answered in the negative, he hadn't seen the guy all day but if he wanted, he'd keep an eye out for him.

Sawyer wasn't stupid…usually, and had taken the offer, satisfied that he now had two sets of eyes looking for one person. Still, he continued his hunt but knew he was running out of time. The class bell would ring any minute and he did not want to be late.

Yet every second he used to find Christian was another second lost in getting to his next class. Man, he was hoping for some kind of divine intervention or something. Sadly, divine intervention seemed to be in short supply today as nothing miraculous happened that would allow him to get within five feet of his target.

Goddamn it.

* * *

Sunny carefully tied the strand of hair around her doll, an uncharacteristic smirk on her face. She felt evil and she liked it. She really did.

Time to make Rod pay. He had gotten away with this for too long.

However, she noticed that she hadn't brought any pins or sharp instruments in which to prod the doll and she found herself pouting. Well damn, what good was a hoodoo doll if you didn't have any pins or needles to stick it with?

Holding the doll close to her face as if examining it critically, she sighed, her hot breath washing all over the doll.

* * *

"Whoo! Did someone fart?" Kenny complained as he flapped one of his hands beside his face, trying to dispel the sudden stench that had made its way up his nostrils.

"Don't look at me, I didn't do it," Cartman said. "This time," he added under his breath.

"Wow, that's a real shocker. You didn't fart for once and expose us to that UN banned gastrointestinal tract of yours," Kyle said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

"Ay! Are you trying to say something?" Cartman demanded, glaring at the smaller Jew.

"That your colon is a weapon of mass destruction?" Kyle suggested helpfully.

"What's that suppose to mean?"

"He's saying that your farts smell like somebody died inside of you," Mr. Garrison interrupted as he took his seat at his desk, pulling out an adult magazine from a drawer. "Now be quiet and do something like homework or something. That waste of time assembly ruined my class lesson damn it."

"What? You were going to talk about AIDS?" Cartman asked.

"Super-AIDS," Mr. Garrison corrected, "and yes, I wanted to scare the bejeezuses out of you. Stan, reign your father in or get him a muzzle. I don't care which."

"Yes Mr. Garrison," Stan answered quietly, flushing in embarrassment as the rest of the class turned its attention to him for a second.

"Damn it, why does it stink in here?" Kenny muttered to himself while no one paid him any mind.

* * *

Suuny scratched her head as she tried to figure out what to do with the doll now. She tossed it up and down, always catching before launching it up back into the air again. Her grayish green eyes pierced into as if seeking some kind of inspiration that was not forthcoming.

Sighing again, she tossed the doll back up into the air, not really paying attention to the fact that she had tossed it up at an angle so that when it fell back down, she missed it entirely. When she didn't feel its light weight impact her palm, she looked at her hand in confusion then towards the floor where the doll lay.

She grimaced at the wetness on the floor, a sign that one of the toilets had overflowed earlier. For some reason, she had the urge to clean it…

* * *

Kenny was absolutely dizzy. He didn't get motion sickness, didn't get car or airsick, and yet here he was on the verge of throwing up for no particular reason. He couldn't explain it, couldn't explain why he had the sensation of going up and down, his body rocking in a similar motion.

Unexpectedly, he found himself face down on the floor, said face smacking against the tile with a loud slap.

"Kenny McCormick, what are you doing?" Mr. Garrison demanded as he looked up from his magazine. "Are you high again?"

"I…don't think so," he answered slowly. He didn't remember having a joint this morning and he certainly didn't have one during that boring ass assembly on AIDS…or was it super-AIDS? He forgot which it was. It was all the same anyway.

"Then get your face off my classroom floor and sit in your desk like the retard you are," Mr. Garrison responded as he went back to his reading material, grumbling under his breath.

As his teacher was speaking, Kenny began to feel cool, something that helped with the throbbing headache he was feeling. He would have relaxed into the sensation as he got back into his desk, everyone giving him looks while a few rolled their eyes as if expecting this kind of behavior from him, but there was something about this coolness that felt…wet. That was the best he could describe it. He felt wet.

Then he found he was having trouble breathing.

* * *

The water from the faucet landed directly on the doll's "face" as Sunny tried to clean what she suspected to be piss from it, using some soap from the soap dispenser than hung on the wall right neck to the sink.

Hmm, maybe using the soap was not a good thing. It was messing up the eyes a bit and as she began wiping away the suds from the doll, she squeezed on it tightly to try and get any excess water that the doll may have absorbed out of it.

* * *

Kyle was watching Kenny, slightly disturbed by how his blond friend was acting. The guy looked like he was drowning and from the way he was gurgling, the redhead might have been right about that.

And damn, that was a lot of saliva that was flooding out of the mouth from which he had heard one too many perverse words come from. Kenny was really putting some effort into this. What was the point in doing this anyway? All it was doing was pissing Garrison off though at this point, he too looked like he was interested in what Kenny was doing.

No one was making any pretense of doing something else, like school work, and a couple people the Jew could have sworn were recording what was happening on their phones. Others were just texting what was going on.

The way they kept looking up from their phones then back to presumably type some more was a dead giveaway there.

Spitting out the last of his spit, Kenny practically shrieked and he threw himself backwards in his desk, clawing at his eyes for some reason. "Oh God my eyes! It's like I'm one of those animal-tested rabbits! I'm blind! I'm blind! I'm—"

Kenny choked off at this point though Kyle heard a strange exhalation of air come from the blond's mouth.

Just what in the hell was going on?

* * *

Aw great. The doll looked like shit now. She had ruined it by obeying that impulse to clean it! It barely looked like Rod now!

She continued to mope as she tried desperately to dry the doll off with the paper towels that she had wadded up but no matter what she did, the damn thing just wouldn't dry!

Then she noticed the blow-dryer…

* * *

Kenny blinked his eyes as the stinging sensation passed and he could see once more.

He could see!

Hallelujah, he could see! He could see color, he could see his desk, he could see the rest of the class…staring…right at him…for some reason. Huh, wonder what they were finding so interesting? He looked behind himself to see if there was anything there but came up with nada.

"Hey Po' Boy, what the hell?" Cartman demanded. "Are you having a seizure or are you PMSing? Either way, you look like someone's giving electroshock therapy to your balls."

Oh. They were staring at him. Huh. Not that he wasn't used to people staring at him but still. They were staring at him. What do you know?

The next thing he knew, he felt overwhelmingly hot and some unseen force pressing him back into his desk chair. He couldn't move and felt air rushing all about him and yet no one else seemed to be feeling this.

Okay, enough with this shit, would somebody fucking help him?

Oh wait, who was he kidding? He forgot for a moment how incompetent the assholes in this town were.

* * *

Sunny stared in dismay at the doll. Putting it under that air dryer hadn't been one of her better ideas, apparently. One of the eyes was gone, the doll itself looked like it was about to fall apart but at least Rod's hair was still wound in it.

A small mercy but at this point, Sunny was beginning to think she should give up on this ploy. Really, how dumb of an idea was a hoodoo doll? Sure on paper it looked like a stroke of genius but when you put it in action, it was just stupid. Really.

As she walked out of the bathroom, she tossed the doll that she had slaved over for so long, hair and all into the nearest trashcan. As of this moment, she knew that she was extremely late to class and while she figured she could probably hang out in the bathroom until the bell for next period tang, she didn't want to be reminded of this latest failure of hers.

As she turned a corner, a dark-skinned janitor came by and stopped next to the trashcan. He needed to hurry; he had spotted the garbage truck pulling up and it was best that he clean out as many trashcans as he could before he left.

Unfortunately, he was a lazy son of a bitch and this was the first trashcan that he had come up to. Still, he might as well put as little effort as he could into this noble goal of his.

He saw a tattered doll lying on top of the crap that was in the can. Well that was a shame; who would put a perfectly good—wait, there was stuffing coming out of the damn thing. Never mind. Pulling out the trashbag, he tied the opening shut and replaced the empty can with a new bag before hurrying over to where he knew the dumpster to be.

* * *

Kenny looked around, panting and sweating as he waited for the next thing to hit him, whatever that was. The rest of the class was now staring at him, wondering what he was going to do next.

He clenched his eyes shut and waited, praying that whatever was coming next, it would at least be short and wouldn't hurt for too long. Yet nothing happened. It was as if whatever was affecting him was gone now and would be leaving him alone. Warily, he opened his eyes, his baby-blues darting from side to side, searching for the next attack that would undoubtedly be waiting for him to lower his guard.

Yet nothing happened.

"Done?" Mr. Garrison asked dryly. "Good. Now stop acting like a retard and wait for the bell like every other person."

Christ he hated that guy.

* * *

"Ey! EY! Wait up mon!"

The garbage truck driver looked out of his window, annoyed by the Jamaican accent that was yelling at him. He saw a black janitor throw one last bag of trash into the back and he rolled his eyes at that. Freaking immigrants stealing jobs from hard-working Americans.

Not bothering to give the asshole janitor another second of his time, he threw a nearby level and activated the compressing mechanism. Time to compact some trash and make more room for more.

* * *

"Kenny? You okay?" Kyle whispered quietly to the blond. "Is something wrong?"

Oh, there was a lot wrong. Starting with the lazy assholes who watched him suffer but didn't raise a finger to help.

"I'm fine," he answered gruffly, looking away from the redheaded Jew. He didn't want to be mad at any of his friends so he figured not having them in direct eyesight might divert whatever anger he was feeling towards them away. Of course, you might as well be asking him to let go of his resentment towards his friends for always failing to acknowledge one of his deaths, even when he put a gun to his own head and pulled the trigger himself.

Was it too much to ask for them to remember just _one_ time?

"Why do you care, Jewboy?" Cartman sneered at Kyle. "Lonely without your boyfriend so trying to hit on Kenny huh? How like a Jewrat. Can't trust them at all."

Kyle growled at Cartman but Kenny proceeded to ignore what came next. It was the same old, same old anyway. Why waste time thinking there might be something _new_?

Then he felt it. There was that pressure again but this time it felt stronger than all the others. In fact, he could feel it pressing himself together, crushing him from all sides. He opened his mouth only to choke, whatever noise he made being covered up by the sounds of Kyle and Cartman arguing while Stan focused only on himself and the embarrassment he felt from his dad's assembly.

Goddamn it. God fucking damn it.

"Kenny?" Kyle asked, looking at the blond queerly. Kenny was doing it again only this time his eyes were bulging and he looked like he was trying to shrink in on himself. It was an odd position but that oddness was replaced when he saw how red Kenny's eyes were becoming as the blood vessels dilated.

Holy shit, he stared in shock. Was Kenny bleeding from his eyes? And his ears?

"Holy shit!" Cartman exclaimed, redirecting attention back onto Kenny. Even Stan perked up from his self-loathing to see what was happening.

Kenny looked pained, absolutely pained, his body trembling for some reason before suddenly he imploded. Blood splattered everywhere, Kenny's head flipped through the air to land on someone's desk while his eyes shot out in two random direction.

There was silence as everyone stared at Kenny's mangled body, the only movement being when someone blinked their eyes. It began to dawn on the students what had happened and when it had, the inevitable happened.

"Oh my God! They killed Kenny!" Stan cried out.

"You bastards!" Kyle bellowed, shaking his fist in the air.

* * *

Great. He was back here. How fantastic.

Kenny was not the least bit fazed by the hellfire and brimstone or the sight of the hideous demons that waited in the shadows, eyeing all the new coming souls that had the misfortune to wind up here.

Once you had seen Hell enough times, it lost its shock value after a while.

It was too bad that this was only temporary. By tomorrow morning, he would find himself looking straight up at the grimy surface that was his ceiling and in a mindset that wondered whether or not what he had seen was real. Of course, it was all real and it was all thanks to his parents getting wrapped up in some suspicious doings of a cult and all because they were offered free beer. Yeah, thanks a lot you dicks.

Well, he might as well check in and find out all that had been happening here. It was always an experience to gossip with Satan's unholy minions. You would never expect to figure out just how human these demons were. They all had their hopes and dreams, things they always wanted to do but couldn't. He found himself emphasizing with the forces that most people on Earth declared to be evil incarnate, though really there was only one absolute evil in this universe.

Fortunately, despite his press, Satan was not that evil.

It was Cthuhlu. Thanks a lot, Lovecraft, for bringing that monster into human awareness. Dick.

Leaving behind the ever-growing group of newly dead humans behind, the blond strolled through Hell like it was his home away from home. He greeted a demon here and there, learned that one demon had developed a crush on one of the Sirens since last he visited, another demon had got his ass pwned by some mystery player while playing Halo Reach, but one demon that he usually spoke with at least once he couldn't find.

Where was that bitch, Lilith, anyway? Last he heard from her, she going to have some sexual fun with a demon guard that she had been eying for some time. Then again, over the past month or so, he had begun to notice that she seemed preoccupied with something, whatever it could be. He figured since it was none of his business, he wouldn't pry and let that demonic bitch do as she would.

Or at least, he thought Lilith was a girl. You had to be careful down here because there was something weird about a demon's sex. One demon could look entirely like the butchest man you ever saw but actually be female while the most dead sexy gal that made you orgasm from looking at her was actually a guy. It was nuts.

Steadily, he made his way to Hell's throne room where he could tell the Prince of Darkness was. You had to be an absolute moron not to be able to tell where Satan was at all times of the day; the big guy had some kind of spiritual aura or something, kinda like that chi stuff he read about in all those Japanese manga he had read…merely for the scantily clad girls of course and not for the plot. Anyway, this aura could be felt anywhere in Hell at any time; the reason why people were always so surprise to bump into here was because they got so used to that aura and the way it was, like, _everywhere_.

Lucky for him he wasn't in Hell all the time and never really got used to feeling Satan's presence.

Doing as he always did, he barged right into the throne room, usually empty because Satan didn't really use it much, something about the color scheme being all wrong. There right into his "evil overlord" throne was the red guy himself but for some reason, Satan wasn't his usually attentive self.

Usually, Satan always knew when he had arrived and would be waiting for him to show up only so he could get the latest gossip on the Kardashians…or what was left of them at any rate. Today, Satan didn't even look up from whatever it was he was doing. All Kenny knew was that whatever it was, it was powerful, enough that he froze in his tracks instantly.

It was like any freewill he had turned into smoke and puffed away. He couldn't move and had a sudden urge to do whatever it was that Satan, his lord and master, wanted and—wait, wait, since when was Satan his…why did he think that he had always been his master?

It seemed like an eternity had passed as he stood in his spot, Satan fiddling with something in his hands, so concentrated on it that he hadn't noticed the blond was there. Eventually, he put aside whatever he was working on and finally noticed that he had a visitor.

"Oh gosh! Kenny McCormick! Hold on for a sec!" the Dark Lord exclaimed.

Okay…he could hold on…for however long his lord and master wanted…

Suddenly, whatever had been influencing him vanished and he felt the ability to move return to him as if it had never left. Wow, it was so great to tap his own foot in impatience. Look at it go! Wait, why was he here again? Oh right, gossip.

"Hey Satan!" he greeted cheerfully.

Instead of being greeted back, he found himself on the end of a frown from the red fallen angel. "Didn't you read the 'Do Not Disturb' sign I had on the door?" Satan demanded. "I put it there for a reason."

He vaguely recalled seeing a placard hanging from the doorknob now that he thought about it. He only just remembered what he did because he thought it to be unusual as a hotel "do not disturb" sign to be in the middle of Hell of all places. Huh, so there was a reason for it to be there. Who knew?

"What'cha doin'?" he asked instead, hoping to distract the ruler of Hell. He figured sounding like a little kid sticking his nose into business he had no reason messing in would probably earn him a little leeway.

And despite him being countless millennia old, Satan fell for it.

"Oh, just working on a little project," the large red man said. "Things have been tense around here between me and my son and I figured a little fresh air might do him good, you know? He always enjoys going up onto the surface but hates it when he has to come home."

"So what? Boarding school?" Kenny asked, settling himself beside Satan's throne and planting his chin on one of the armrests.

"No, nothing that Hollywood," Satan answered. "I was thinking about sending him back up into South Park but for some reason, I think he might want to go there. Instead of teaching him a lesson, he'd treat it as a reward and that's the last thing I want happening."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know yet," Satan admitted, "but what I do know is that whatever I do, I need to have a collar on him or at least a way that keeps him from using his powers willy-nilly. He'd attract the wrong attention, i.e. some of those bastards up in Heaven. So you see, what I'm working on is something to force him to regulate himself, you know?"

"What is it?" Kenny asked.

"Well, I have right here a tooth from The Chuck Norris himself," Satan said proudly as he took out what he had been working on just a bit ago, Kenny suddenly feeling his freewill begin to slip away again.

"Oh, sorry about that," Satan apologized as he fiddled with a slender tooth that was about the size of an adult's pinky finger. "There. Do you feel better?"

As a matter of fact, he did. He blinked, reveling in the control he had over his body once more before slapping himself and bringing himself back into the conversation at hand. He blinked owlishly at the tooth, a hand held up as if he was going to try and extend his limb to touch it.

"Incredible, isn't it?" Satan asked proudly. "You won't believe what I've been going through with this thing. I've had to whittle it down from its original size because when I originally tried to bind Damien to it, it nearly crushed him with its tremendous power. That was back when it was larger. Now, though, I think I've managed to weaken it enough so that Damien won't be forced to eat carpet whenever he's next to it. That boy is so delicate…"

Damien? The Antichrist? Delicate? That would be the day. Still, Satan's definition of delicate obviously differed from his. Damn demigods and their screwed up sense of the world.

"I think he can take more than you think he can," he said delicately (damn, there was that word again!).

"But he bruises so easily!" Satan moaned. "Is it because I kept him home for too long when he was young?"

"I'm sure you're a great father…mother…whichever you are," Kenny tried to comfort, patting the devilman on his forearm.

Sometimes, he wondered if this guy had estrogen flares. It would explain a lot.

* * *

Watching Rod leave the school in good health as he had when he first arrived, Sunny lamented that she hadn't gotten her vengeance yet.

The demon hadn't worked, the hoodoo doll had been a waste of time, and now she was grasping at straws. Had this been any other time and she been her old self, she probably would have given up after the demon fiasco.

No, she couldn't give up. Not when Rod was still going about his life as if nothing had happened. He needed to pay. He needed to pay oh so dearly. But what could someone like her do? Whatever she did, it usually backfired or Rod didn't even notice. If anyone knew what she was doing, she'd be a laughingstock for sure and all she wanted to do was go back to the way things were before that asshole walked into her video store.

Third time was suppose to be the charm, right? Right. Henrietta's book had to have something in it, something so horrible and unstoppable that it was guarantee to work. There had to be something, there just had to be!

She was determined, Rod was going to pay, no matter what. Now if only she could get her plots for revenge to go right for once.

* * *

Back into his home, his sanctuary from the outside world, Randy Marsh found himself in the bathroom once more, staring at his reflection as if what he saw was a complete stranger. How could he have fallen as far as he had? He used to be somebody in this town, respected, adored. He was a visionary, someone ahead of his time what with his theories on spontaneous combustion and the T.M.I. scale.

The surgeon general was wrong with her formula, damn it! It's length times diameter plus weight over girth divided by the angle of the tip squared! It wasn't length times girth over angle of the shaft divided by mass over width!

Right now, all he saw was a sick old man, one at the end of his mortal coil. There was still so much to do, so much to see, and yet he probably only had until tomorrow to live…

He would never see his son graduate high school or win the homecoming game, never get to see his only daughter graduate college and make something of herself, never get to bury his father because that old prick just didn't know when to die…

It wasn't fair, damn it! He had so much to live for! If only he hadn't contracted super-AIDS! If only he had made sure that toilet seat was clean…

Something caught his eye and he looked away from the bathroom mirror. There, right on the counter was an electric shaver. He stared at the small device, various thoughts running through his head and the next thing he knew, he was picking the shaver up.

Since he was sick, he might as well look that part…

With the press of a button, he turned the shaver on.

* * *

Finally, he was home from that God awful day. Stan heaved a sigh as he dropped his backpack in front of the door, too exhausted to take it up to his room. He just wanted to bury himself under his bedcovers or six feet worth of dirt and just disappear from the face of this earth.

Really, today had been so stupid and embarrassing, from his father's assembly to Kenny being weird. All in all, it was a typical day in South Park.

"Staaaan?"

Oh no. That sounded like his father. No, no way, he couldn't let himself be caught out in the open like this. He had to hide, had to—"

"Staaaan!" his father cried out as he wheeled himself into the living room in one of Grandpa's spare wheelchairs, various splotches of his scalp showing from where he had most likely shaved himself. "There you are! Staaaaan. So how was school my boy?" He finished his question with a couple coughs but Stan was in too much horror and dread to really pay attention.

Goddamn it, this was just like when his father found out he had alcoholism. The first time, not the other twenty-nine times.

"Staaaan? Can you speak up? I'm a bit hard of hearing," his father rasped out.

Somebody, anybody, God, Jesus, Satan, Cartman, just shoot him right now and put him out of his misery. It would be the humane thing.

"Staaaan? Are you listening to me? Where are you going? Staaaan? Staaaaaaan!"


	17. Shall We be Out of Character?

Author's Note: Apparently no one was seriously offended last chapter or they didn't inform me of that. Well recently, I've been going through some of the reviews from previous chapters and it inspired one of the scenes this chapter. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Shall We be Out of Character?

If there were leaves in South Park, they would have been turning from green to orange to red and then brown and die as September passed into October.

As if a switched and been flipped, there was an energy within the walls of South Park High School. Instead of the soulless complacency the students expressed throughout September, they were milling about, in particular the Seniors who were all excited about one thing and one thing only.

It could all be summed up in one word: Homecoming.

So to put it all in perspective, in September the students were trudging about like zombies. In October, they were trudging about like zombies but actually talking with one another. So much a difference, really…

Bain, however, could only sneer at it and continue to emit what everyone else termed "hate waves." Really? Waves of hatred? Could they not come up with something better? He didn't have the motivation to come up with a better term but that didn't stop him from berating the intellectual capacities of his fellow (ugh) peers.

And the fact that these peers were so excited about the annual event known as Homecoming, it behooved Bain to immediately dislike it. It was a conditioned response for him; whatever everybody else liked, he disliked. Once that was determined, anybody trying to shove what they liked in his face would receive a barrage of verbal barbs, whose sole purpose was to rip apart its target, and if need be introduce a physical barb a la Winslow.

Really, how many times did he need to make Butters cry in order for those morons to get it through their heads?

However, there was a difference with this year's Homecoming celebration. Other than it being his class' senior year, he also had one large factor that changed everything up. That factor was, of course, Charlotte.

It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out that Charlotte too was not as moved by the impending celebration like most everyone else was. In fact, he had seen her scoff at the crappy and ill-made posters that advertised what time of the year it was. So yes, he found a fellow brother-in-arms (or was it sister-in-arms?) in his dislike of the celebratory occasion.

But maybe it was because it was Charlotte that he found he had the urge to do something with her this year. Was that why he found himself approaching Butters at one of the ticket stands, said teen giving him a wary look and scrapping his knuckles together in anxiety, with the purpose of _purchasing_ two tickets to get into the Homecoming Dance?

If so, he'd go find the nearest Greyhound Bus and put himself out of his misery by jumping in its way when it was moving at sixty-five miles per hour.

Receiving two crisp tickets from a trembling hand, he pocketed the means of admission and stalked off, trying to come up with a plan to lure Charlotte out with him. There was no sense in buying the damn things if he wasn't going to use them and if Charlotte stiffed him…

Well, maybe he wouldn't think of that possibility right now. For some reason, just thinking of her refusal made his stomach churn. He had never felt that way before about anyone, excluding parents, naturally, even though he hated his. He hated feeling that he should care what other people thought about him, especially when it was a girl who would hang that piece of knowledge over his head and would tease him about it for God only knew how long.

At least, for the moment, he could say that his "peers" were steering away from him, as if they could tell he was in internal turmoil. Well, he had to hand it to their lizard brains; they unconsciously knew what was best for their survival even if they didn't consciously know that their survival was at stake. God he loved psychology sometimes.

So, back to the matter at hand. How to trick Charlotte into conforming with him for one night and not have her rub his nose in it? No matter what angle he looked at it, there was no way he could avoid one without the other being introduced into the equation. So what the fuck was he suppose to do?

She better fucking appreciate this because if she was anyone else, he would have slit their throat in their sleep and gone on about his business a long time ago.

"What's got the shrimp in a knot? Having his time of the month or something?"

He heard that a mile away and his attention was automatically drawn to the pathetic soul who would soon be joining an exclusive club of murder victims. He knew the voice by sound and had already made conclusions as to who it was but there was nothing quite as factual as learning the identity of his verbal assaulter through visual confirmation.

Just as he figured, Rod Woods. How predictable.

He glared at the pretty boy, looking Rod straight in those emerald green eyes of his and communicating his annoyance with the bastard nonverbally. Oh, Rod tried to return him look for look but the _boy_ was far out of his league when it came to staring someone down. The idiot was probably more used to dealing with those fawning females who would cave in without a fight and so when coming into combat with a professional such as him, Bain, the muscle head was hopelessly crushed.

His mother had once told him he could stare down the devil if he wanted, one of the extremely few compliments he accepted from the whorish bitch. He reckoned he probably could too if he felt like it.

As Rod tried to slip away, utterly defeated by the sociopath's gaze, Bain found his attention snapping to a new target as if he had radar. There she was, the very person who had put him in this foul mood this morning without even lifting a finger.

Charlotte.

Oh and lookie, lookie, she had company in the form of that French bastard and sorry excuse for a rainbow. Great, that trio was reunited and…he was partly to fault, wasn't he? If he hadn't accepted the French bastard's cash, that pair at least would still be separate. Damn it! He had fucking set himself up!

Touché, DeLorne, touché. You win this round.

"Hey bastard," Charlotte greeted him, just as she usually did when he didn't come to pick her up in the morning. Then again, that was also how she greeted him when he did pick her up. "Funny, I thought I wouldn't see you until lunch or something."

He didn't need to look to know that the Edwards bitch was watching him carefully, ready to fling herself away in case he felt like throwing something…sharp. He also didn't need to look to know that DeLorne had positioned himself so that he was firmly between him and Edwards and there was no doubt in Bain's mind that if he indeed threw something, Frenchie would fucking catch it.

"Contrary to popular belief, I do have to do things early at school," he retorted as he took his place in front of Charlotte, challenging her as he usually did when he was in one of his "moods" as they were termed.

"Like what?" Charlotte retorted, recognizing and accepting his challenge. "I doubt it has to involve any of the teachers; you're too smart for them."

Bain narrowed his eyes; once again, touché. Why was it whenever he got into one of these tug-of-wars with Charlotte, he had the feeling that he was going to lose? Well, time to bring in the bullshit and see if she could sort through it.

"Oh, setting a bomb in your locker," he drawled. "You know, something to keep you on your toes. I dare say you're getting quite complacent."

"Bull," she snorted. "You have zero to no skills at making a bomb. You couldn't make one even with a step-by-step instruction manual downloaded from the internet."

"Ouch," Christophe said quietly though not quietly enough.

"You stay out of this," he and Charlotte said simultaneously. Bain refused to acknowledge that he had just done that and thus tried to proceed like it didn't bother him. Key word being try.

"So, what have you been up to this time?" Charlotte inquired though Bain could have sworn he heard an indulging tone, you know, one of those kinds of voices where a person sounds like they're treating you like a child? That one except Charlotte was more subtle about it. She sounded more like she really was curious than trying to placate him. "Sabotaging some lockers? Rigging the electrical lights to try and electrocute someone again? What?"

"I only did that once," he grumbled, referring to the lights. Kenny McCormick just had to foil that one; his real target had been Rainbow-Bright over there. Louder, he said, "Do you think so little of me that I would continuously stoop to those levels?"

"Yes," Charlotte replied unabashed.

One more time, touché.

"You can be quite insensitive, can't you?" he said.

"Eh, it's a talent," Charlotte shrugged.

"More like a bad habit," he countered. "You could stand to be a _little_ nicer to me after all the things I've done for you."

"Depends on what things you're talking about," she shot back. "Are you talking about the times you've tried to kill me? The times you made me absolutely miserable? Or those few and in-between times that you made me happy?"

"Good times," he said softly, recalling some of their first encounters.

"I never figured out why your nose didn't heal crooked," Charlotte commented, whatever aggravation she had in her voice gone.

"Ze lover's spat appears to be over," Christophe whispered to Rhiannon.

"Shut up!" the both of them snarled at the French asshole, once again simultaneously.

Looking away from the sight of Christophe, Bain gave Charlotte one of his soul-piercing gazes, reveling internally when he spotted her discomfort. Ah yes, it never failed him. Quietly, he pulled out one of the dance tickets he had, making sure no one observed him doing so. Enough with the games; why try to give her this when she was going to find out it was him anyway and tease him about it unmercifully?

Grabbing one of her wrists, he pulled one of her hands towards him where he then planted the ticket in her palm.

"Don't say I never did anything for you," he said with parting before releasing her wrist and backing away, making his quick escape while the girl stared in wonder at what he had given her.

He figured they'd iron out the details later. For now, he'd rather have her struck speechless and in turn be teased by those hanger-ons.

Maybe he really was a closet romantic…

* * *

"Is that for Homecoming?" Rhiannon asked incredulously. Now that she thought about it, Homecoming was coming right around the corner. And when she thought about it further, she realized that she had no one to ask her to the dance either, especially since she was not _together_ with her Sex God Christophe in the typical sense of boyfriend and girlfriend.

They were "just friends."

Blimey.

"Is this what I think it is?" Charlie asked out loud, coming out of the stupor that Bain had put her in.

Examining it closer, Christophe confirmed it. "Seems like your leetle psychopath wants to take you out on a leetle date. How cute."

"Oh no. Oh Hell no, he didn't just do this and walk away," Charlie said seethingly.

"Well, 'e did just zat," Christophe replied.

"That cocksucking asshole," Charlie growled.

Huh. Rhiannon always thought that everyone liked being asked out by their significant other. While Charlie and Bain were "together" in the sense that she and Christophe weren't, Charlie was not behaving like a normal person would.

"That asshole, not telling me what he was up to," Charlie growled as she set off in pursuit of her "boyfriend."

It was times like these where Rhiannon really doubted the sanity of the people she hung around, in particular Charlie. She knew the other girl was fucked up (and who wasn't?) but that didn't stop her from hanging around and chatting with the other girl. Charlie had problems, who cared? It's not like Christophe wasn't fucked up either what with his leanings towards homosexuality. Or was it bisexuality in his case?

"I will n'ver understand zose two," Christophe commented as he took one of her hands in held onto it with his much larger one. "Et's a miracle zey 'ave stayed together zis long."

"They must really like each other," she sighed, slightly surprised that she said such a thing. It sounded like something that should come out of either someone wiser than her or incredibly delusional. She did not want to think that she was leaning more towards the latter in this case.

"Ees et love?" Christophe asked rhetorically. "I really doubt et. Whatever et ees between zem, et ees twisted."

He squeezed her hand in comfort and she felt warm and fuzzy inside from that gesture. She really did miss being an item with him.

"Zough, ze leetle wheezle did bring up somezing," Christophe mused. Looking down at her, giving her one of those sexy smiles of his that made her want to melt into a gooey puddle, he asked, "Are you doing anyzing for 'omecoming?"

"I want to hump your leg," she blurted out. Damn, why wasn't she over that verbal diarrhea habit of hers? No matter what, it always happened around the Sex God…much to her embarrassment.

"I can take zat as a 'yes'?" Christophe asked, not even blinking.

* * *

It was rare that Devin ever felt herself become nervous, especially if it involved going out with a guy. She was the party-loving popular girl that everybody was jealous of, whether it was because they wanted to be her or downright hated her.

If things were as they were usually, it would be a guy who came up to ask her out on a date and she would pretend to think it over, enjoy how the guy would squirm in discomfort and then, on a whim, give either a yes or no answer. If it was the latter, she would tack on something about "what makes you think I would be interested in you?" and then crack jokes about the guy with her girlfriends in front of his face.

It was usually reserved for the losers that she did such a thing; guys like Stan Marsh, Token Black, Craig Tucker, and others like that got an immediate yes. Of course, it wasn't often that any of those guys would approach her and ask her out on a Friday night so she couldn't afford to squander any time answering them as those guys always had some backups in case they had second thoughts about her.

This time, though, was different from all the others. No really, it was. All those other times, it was the guys who were asking _her_, not the other way around. This time it _was_ her who was asking a guy out. She had never done something like this before but just waiting for the stud she wanted to come up to her and ask her out only resulted in her tearing her hair out…metaphorically speaking, of course, because who would date a beauty with splotches of missing hair?

Up until this point, she had never known how hard it was to work up the guts to try and ask someone out and for once she was sympathizing with some of the losers she had turned down over the years. She didn't like it, not one bit, but if she wanted to get what she wanted, she had no choice.

It was either make the move herself or have him pick someone else who was _not her_.

She was tired of waiting. She would have her coveted date with Rod Woods even if it killed her!

She could see him down the hallway, Brianna Vargas close to him. She never understood why Rod would choose to let a nerd stick beside him for so long, even after he had obviously done her. It was easy to tell who Rod screwed; they typically came back to school with temporary limps and chafe marks on their wrists. Some would have glowing smiles, other would have the look of someone who had come back from a war.

Her only problem with that was that it was always someone else, someone who was _not her_!

"You can do this girl," Bebe said from beside her. Yes, Devin knew she would need the support. She was going to need all she could get.

"Alright, I'm going in," she mumbled, her stomach in knots over the stress she was feeling.

"Good luck," Bebe told her as the brunette as said brunette steeled her nerves and marched down the hallway towards where her prize lay.

Listen to Bebe, she told herself. You can do this. You can get a date with Rod Woods. You _can_ do this!

She was a bit peeved that Rod hadn't noticed her until she was like five feet away from him. No, he had all his attention on Brianna right there and that further pissed Devin off. What did Brianna have that she didn't? She already had seen the nerd come to school with the telltale limp…twice. What was so different about her that Rod would do her but not someone as hot as her, Devin?

On her scale of coolness, Brianna only ranked a three, which was better than that loser Wendy Testaburger who had a negative five. And despite her nerdiness, Rod had paid more attention to fucking Wendy that to someone as cool and popular as her.

Well fuck that. It was time she actually did something about this.

However, as it came time to get this hunk's attention, Devin felt her stomach churn as doubt began to suggest the possibility that he would turn her down. Hadn't he barely done anything with her outside of hanging out? Was he that not interested in her?

No, she told herself. She couldn't let this fine specimen of manliness slip through her fingers.

"Hey Rod," she said somewhat shyly. She berated herself on sounding like one of those loser girls who actually did have a reason to believe they would be turned down. Rod turned towards her and she felt her heart stop at those half-lidded green eyes that looked like they were devouring every inch of her. A lazy smile creased those movie star looks and for some reason, that hat of his further emphasized his sexiness.

"Hey back at you," Rod answered and damn it, was he getting hotter or something? She swore, she was getting aroused just by him looking at her.

She swallowed, stalling for precious seconds so that she could get her confidence and wits back. She was really not good at asking other people out, was she?

"Are you doing anything for Homecoming?" she asked, her arms being her back as she bent slightly, looking more and more like the shy schoolgirl she didn't want to be.

"Not at the moment," Rod told her. "Why? You want to go out with me?"

Damn, he hit the nail on the head with that one. She nodded her head, for once not trusting herself to say the right thing. Where was her coolness going? This was so unlike her…

"Sure," Rod shrugged his broad shoulders though his eyes remained trained on her. "It sounds like it'll be interesting."

"Not even a thing and already you're flirting with her," Brianna scoffed, rolling her eyes. Devin couldn't help but look at Brianna in surprise and awe. How come it was the nerdy girl that sounded the way she wanted to be in this situation?

"Guilty as charged," Rod admitted, "but you don't mind, right?" he asked her, the intensity of his eyes boring into her.

"Not at all," she managed to gulp out. Why was it that her legs felt like they wanted to fall out from under her?

"How's about I pick you up at eight?" he asked. "That way if we want to, we can bail out early and still have the rest of the night to have _fun_."

Oh, she liked the sound of that. She really, _really_ did.

"Okay," she nodded. "I'll…I'll go pay for the tickets! Right. We can't get in without them."

"If you say so," Rod said, "but I'll pay you back later, okay? It's not right for a girl like you to have to pay for a guy like me to go to a dance."

"You're broke right now, aren't you?" Brianna deadpanned.

"Not at all," Rod shrugged. "I just don't know how much they cost and if I have the right amount of cash on me. So sue me."

"Don't worry about it, I'll take care of you," Devin promised him, starting to feel like she was getting back into the groove and acting more like herself.

"I'm counting on it," Rod said unexpectedly, flashing a wink at her.

Oh yeah, she definitely got the innuendo there.

Bidding Rod and his nerd friend goodbye, she returned to Bebe's side where she gave her friend the good news.

"I knew you could do it!" Bebe cheered for her. "All you needed to do was approach him yourself!"

"I think I know what it feels like to be guys now," Devin said, her face scrunching slightly as if she had tasted something sour. "Ugh, I hope I don't have to do that again in the next one hundred years."

* * *

There were times when Kyle hated to be single.

This was one of those times.

"Yea'! Yea'! How ya like it naoh?" Cartman was taunting him. "I got a fucking date to the Homecoming Dance and you don't Jew! You must feel really pathetic naoh, don't ya?"

Kyle didn't bother to answer, only the sound of him grinding his teeth indicating that he was annoyed.

"Leave him alone, Cartman," Stan said, standing up for his friend only after getting out of one of his Wendy phases. "You don't have to be such a dick about it."

"Stan, Stan, Stan," Cartman said indulgently. "How many years have we known each other? It's a given I have to taunt Kyle whenever I'm cooler than he is no matter what it's about. Besides, what's he gonna do? Sic his boyfriend on me? Ha! The Jew fag is so pathetic that he doesn't _have_ a boyfriend!"

"How much did you have to pay your date off to get her to agree to go with you?" Kenny asked lazily.

Cartman was silent for a minute, not saying anything whatsoever. Then finally, he grumbled, "Fuck you Kenny. Go fuck yourself and die you poor son of a bitch."

"I don't hear a denial there," Kenny pointed out.

Hmm, Kyle thought to himself. What was more pathetic? Not having a date for Homecoming or paying off someone to be your date for Homecoming? Choices, choices…

"I can see that happening," Stan said. "If you have to pay your date off, that's even more pathetic than going stag."

Ouch, Stan, ouch.

As if realizing what he said, Stan turned hastily to Kyle, "Not that there's anything wrong about going stag. In fact, I'd say it takes guts, you know, to go to a dance and, you know, say you don't have anyone but that that's not going to stop you from having a good time, you know?"

"Stan, your foot used to be in your mouth," Kyle told him dully. "Now, it's down your throat. Stop before you hurt yourself."

The fab four stopped in their trek down the hallway, moving to either side of the path as a disgruntled Charlie stomped past them, looking as if she was going to murder someone. It was probably her husband, no biggie.

"You know what I heard?" Kenny picked up the conversation once Charlie was out of earshot. "Charlie was asked to go to the Homecoming Dance. Take a wild guess who asked her."

"You mean that psycho is going to be coming?" Cartman demanded. "Aw crap!"

"I know, amazing, right?" Kenny asked.

"How do you know about this?" Kyle asked suspiciously, eyes narrowed at the blond. "You didn't hear about this, you were there to see it, weren't you?"

"No, no, I didn't see it, I was just walking past Skittles and the Mole and those two were talking about it," Kenny replied smugly.

"So you eavesdropped," Kyle stated.

"Pretty much," Kenny agreed.

"But why would that crazy asshole want to come to Homecoming?" Stan asked, getting the conversation back on track. "He's never gone to any school-held dance. He doesn't go to anything."

"Isn't it obvious?" Kenny retorted. Clasping his hands together and holding them close to his face, his fluttering his eyelids, "It's love."

"First of all, Kenneh, gay," Cartman stated. "Second, there's no way that crazy bastard can love anybody except himself. I know. I love myself and no one else. Except my mom. And the Colonel. And Cheezy Poofs, but that's it."

"Finally, you admit to being a sociopathic asshole," Kyle commented. "You know what they say: the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem."

"Oh? Do I hear the pot calling the kettle black?" Cartman taunted, placing a hand next to his ear mockingly as if it would allow him to hear better. He pointedly ignored Kenny saying, "That's not a denial," and continued with his taunts. "Don't you have something you should admit? You know, that you're gay and love sucking on cock? That you're a greedy Jew who covets every cent he gets his hands on? I'm waiting Kyle."

There was silence, even as Kyle's face turned red from anger.

However, it was Stan who spoke up, saying, "Actually, I think you're more like the pot and Kyle's the kettle since you're the fat one and all."

"Ay! Fuck you Stan!" Cartman snarled, flipping the jock the bird.

Then, something inside Kyle snapped. Perhaps all the stress of everyday life combined with the force that was Eric Cartman had finally got to him. Perhaps it was the fact that all his friends were these charismatic people who could get dates (even if they paid someone off) anytime they wanted. Perhaps it was the fact he hadn't been able to vent his frustrations out on the basketball court because the one closest to his house was being torn up so that some asshole family could build a house on where it once was.

Well, whatever it was, Kyle snapped.

"You want me to admit something? Fine!" the redhead growled loudly. "I'm gay! There! I said it. I like cock! I like cock being shoved up my ass! I like sucking on cock! Cock the one thing in this world that I fucking love! There! You happy you fat piece of shit!"

Kyle was panting from his verbal outburst, blood rushing through his arteries and veins blocking out sound from entering his ears. He could hear nothing and could only see his friends staring at him in shock. Then he began to realize that he was not hearing anything for a reason and that reason was not because he was deaf.

It seemed like everyone who was in the same hallway as him was staring at him speechless. Then, far in the background, you could hear some girls start to cry, mourning the loss of a hot piece of ass that they would never be able to tap.

"Dude. Whoa," Cartman said softly, his eyes bulging at the unexpected outburst.

Instead of standing there in his self-caused humiliation, the redhead's temper flared once more. "What are you looking at! Don't make me go Jersey on you!"

The sounds of multiple footsteps running away as far as they could away from him was his answer and soon, Kyle found himself standing alone in the middle of the hallway.

Well, almost alone.

Kenny patted his shoulder, throwing caution to the wind because he was a crazy daredevil like that. That didn't count all those times he claimed to have "died" because Kyle was usually there for one of those "deaths" and he always saw him running away for no good reason.

"Well, that's one way to do it," Kenny said. "But you know, if you want, I'd be happy to be your 'date' just so you can get Cartman off your ass."

"Thanks but no thanks," he said gruffly, looking away from the blond. "I wouldn't want to make your fangirls kill themselves in grief over thinking they lost Kenny Casanova McCormick."

Kenny sighed but squeezed the Jew's shoulder comfortingly. "What are friends for? But just know, I'll accept a dance if you want one."

Sometimes, Kyle wondered what went on in Kenny's head. No really, he did.

* * *

It was a place that everyone knew about yet forgot about at the same time because the place in question was one that wasn't really important unless you had something incredibly important to do and wanted absolute secrecy.

It was the abandoned classroom at the back of the school right next to the band room.

A gavel slammed harshly against the musty, wooden surface of the abandoned teacher's desk, calling to order the few people that had showed up for this secret meeting.

"Order! I call order to the first meeting of the scorned and forgotten characters of this story!" Gwendolyn Long announced as she set aside the stolen and abandoned judge gavel of the late and great Judge G. Douché. Gwendolyn took her seat at the abandoned teacher's chair, wincing visibly at the loud creaking sound as her weight settled in it.

Facing her was a small group of mainly girls, a couple of whom who were wondering what they were doing there when they had class to get to.

"Um, what am I doing here?" Brittany Love asked, clueless as to how she had got here.

"You're here because you have been scorned by a lover and/or boyfriend or have not shown up in recently due to some asshole's shitty writing and plot development," Gwendolyn answered, looking straight up at the ceiling for some reason…

"Okay…but I'm not scorned," Brittany pointed out.

"But you haven't shown up since chapter eleven," Gwendolyn state. "I mean, what happened? We last see you with Kenny then you disappear without a word. What's up with that? That's why I have all brought you here today."

"I'll agree and say that I don't like being ignored," one Bonnie Snyder admitted, yet another member of this strange grouping. "But I too have been scorned. I thought Rod Woods was this sweet guy…and now he's ignoring me, treating me like I don't exist, especially after he tricked me into…um…" here she turned red, unable to continue with her statement.

"Oh. Oh! Oh you poor thing!" Brittany exclaimed as she held the other girl in a one-armed hug. "Christ, and we protected him too!" the girl realized, her eyes widening. They had had a war and everything with a metal fortress, a medieval catapult, and Mel Gibson too!

"I know, we were duped," Gwendolyn summed up. "All of us were. We were promised something great and then given crap. Stan Marsh…" here she trailed off, thinking of something fondly, before starting back up again, "Stan asked me to date him and then broke up with me only a few weeks ago just to get back with Wendy fucking Testaburger! I feel so fucking used! And we're not the only ones. I tried to get a couple others but I couldn't find Sunny Dee anywhere, Greer Eade told me to piss off, and that Goth kid with the sketchbook didn't answer me because the rest of those Goth kids ganged up on me and said I was trying to infect him with conformistism or some shit like that."

"Well screw them if they want to remain unknown! I know I'm tired of being overlooked and not getting enough screen time! It's time we show these assholes that we're mad and we're not going to take it anymore!"

And there was the person who made this gathering "mostly" girls.

"Um…what are you doing here Cartman?" Gwendolyn asked, biting her lips as she tried to remember whether or not she invited the asshole to this.

"To get out of class, what do you think?" Cartman shrugged. "Plus I'm always being made the butt of some joke. Especially by Kyle! I'm tired of it! Come on you guys! We can bring some change to this school once and for all and make everybody who made us feel bad pay for what they did! And we can start this party off by killing Kyle. It'll be great!"

"Cartman," Gwendolyn pinched the bridge of her nose, a habit she remembered picking up from Stan… "we're not going to be killing anybody. Especially Kyle. I think I can safely say that everybody here likes Kyle. Am I right?"

"He's okay," Bonnie shrugged.

"Yeah, he's cool," Brittany agreed.

There were a couple other agreements which only served to further piss off Cartman. Growling, he stood up from his abandoned desk and demanded, "What kind of hate group is this? Huh? Answer me!"

Throwing her hair over her shoulder with a shake of her head, she answered, "We're the Last Especially Scorned Bitches In A Nation group or el ee ess bee eye ey en."

"Oh like hell I'm going to belong to a group called LESBIAN!" Cartman yelled. "Screw you hoes, Imma goin' to class." Completing his altered catchphrase with his usual hand gestures, Cartman stomped out of the abandoned classroom at the back of the school right next to the band room.

"Christ," Gwendolyn moaned. "How'd he get in here again?"

Various shrugs, all indicating "I don't know," answered her.

Pull it together girl, Gwendolyn thought to herself as she grasped her resolve, the same resolve that allowed her to put LESBIAN together so that they could finally get what they deserve. And what they deserved was a shot at happiness, the same one that everyone craved and needed just to live life to its fullest. Didn't they too deserve it?

Well what Gwendolyn did know was that being docile was not going to let any of them get that shot of happiness that they all craved and if they continued to let things go as they were, then none of them would get what they wanted.

"Forget about that dick!" she proclaimed, setting a foot on the abandoned teacher's desk and extending an arm upwards, her finger pointing straight to the ceiling and completing the heroic pose that she had adopted. "This is for us, girls! We're going to get what we all want. Happiness, boys, screen time, everything that we know in our hearts we deserve! I say that we start with getting me back together with Stan and making sure that I'm a better choice that Wendy Testaburger. And to get him to stop calling me Wendy fucking 2!"

"Hey, you already had your chance!" Brittany protested. "No, what we need to do is get me hooked up with Kenny again! I'm positive that what he needs is a girl who can keep him in line and make him the gentleman that I know that he is under that rough exterior of his!"

"Kenny's fine just the way he is!" Bonnie stated, her eyes narrowed at the blonde with green doe eyes. "He doesn't need to change at all!"

"Wait, you like Kenny too?" Brittany asked, staring at Bonnie.

"Um…well…" Bonnie trailed off, looking away again.

Oh great, this was just perfect. What were the odds that _two_ girls would have a crush on the same person? Actually, now that Gwendolyn thought about it, those odds were pretty good. The idea that only one person could have a crush on a person with no one else to interfere was pretty ludicrous. Take her own situation for example: she liked Stan, Wendy Testaburger liked Stan, two different people liked the same person and he could only choose one.

Wow, this was a like a recipe for a crappy teen drama.

Well, this was her life, their lives, and she would be damned if this became a crappy teen drama! Even if they were teens…and they were creating drama…and the situation was pretty crappy.

They would triumph over the clichés, she was sure of it! Just as sure as she was that Brokeback Mountain was actually the name of a pile of broken ninja bodies that rested on Chuck Norris' front lawn.

However, the intensity of the argument between Brittany and Bonnie over who would be better for Kenny was beginning to become disruptive and Gwendolyn knew she had to act fast and use the only proven method in which all girls could agree upon to make a group decision.

Banging the abandoned gavel of Judge G. Douché on the abandoned teacher's desk, she declared to the rest of the abandoned room, "Alright girls! There's only one way to figure this thing out! Get your sparkles ready."

Brittany and Bonnie gave one another determined looks as each put a hand in their purses, drawing out the timeless item that represented feminism and the dreams of every little girl out in the world.

"Okay guys, I'm back. Sorry for running off earlier but I think we can really make this work and—" Cartman said as he reentered the abandoned room having apparently decided that interacting with LESBIAN was a betting option than having to sit in class. "—Oh my God! It's so sparkly! Why is it so sparkly! Why doesn't it make any sense! What do the sparkles mean? WHAT DO THE SPARKLES MEAN!"

And here was the reason why Gwendolyn only wanted girls in LESBIAN.

Boys were so stupid.

* * *

It had taken most of the day but Charlie had finally pinned Bain down…against a locker because the bastard was being so elusive for some reason. It was extremely rare that she ever had to look for the psychotic asshole as he usually came to her but apparently, being a serial killer meant you were a champion at hide-n-seek.

Go figure.

She wasn't mad about what happened earlier, per se, it was just that she was confused and when she was confused she got pissed off. And whenever she got pissed off, she wanted to pound something into the ground.

"You're lucky I don't use one of Eric Cartman's catchphrases," Bain said coolly once she got her hands on him. "I would hate to ask if you have any granules of eroded earth up your vaginal canal."

Really, he had a way with words, didn't he? And no, she did _not_ have any sand in her vagina!

"Don't be vague this time, just tell me what is up with this?" she demanded, practically shoving the ticket he had given her that morning.

"What? I can't do something nice for the girl who has openly declared her ownership of me?" Bain asked rhetorically. "Charlotte, you should be _honored_ that I would even stoop as low as to participate in the Homecoming festivities."

"From what I've heard, you _never_ get involved with school crap like a Homecoming dance," Charlie retorted. "So what's up? You have something up your sleeve again, don't you? Are you planning on turning everybody into human popsicles again?"

"Too much work and effort," Bain replied.

"When is tormenting everybody at school 'too much work and effort' for you?" Charlie demanded. Then an idea occurred to her. "Wait, are you trying to use this as an alibi for something? Are you going to try and kill Skittles again? Is that it?"

"With the French poodle as her guard dog? I think not," Bain said dryly.

"Then what is it?" Charlie was nearing the point of tearing out her hair at this point. Bain wasn't the type of person that did something like this without a reason or ulterior motive. It made him predictable in his thinking though it was sometimes hard for her to figure out what those motives were. Where was Sherlock when you needed him?

"You want to know? Fine," Bain spat out, his eyes lighting up with a fire that she only saw when he was really, really angry. "Remember your birthday? You know the one."

The one where her psychotic older brother showed up to tell her that she had until dawn to live? Yeah, she remembered that one. What was Bain's point?

"I find it odd that you'd allow Jackie-boy a dance but refuse me one," Bain stated. "You have no idea how much I wanted to disembowel that prick right then and there."

"You never offered to dance," she corrected. "You just showed up out of the blue, without an invite I might add, and asked me what it felt like to know that I was going to die soon."

"Point," Bain acknowledged. "Nevertheless that still doesn't change the fact of what my number one fantasy is."

"Oh? You have a fantasy that doesn't involve maiming or killing someone?" she asked disbelievingly. "Now I've got to hear this."

"What? You think I don't have human desires?" Bain asked. "As much as I love slashing Winslow into the nearest piece of flesh, there are some things I want that do not involve splattering blood and tissue all over the place."

"Really? So then what is it that you want?" she asked challengingly.

"For someone to hold me," Bain said simply. "To be able to walk out onto a dance floor for the slow dance, you know the one, and just sway to that hidden beat, the one that signifies that you are so in tuned with your partner that you can guide them wherever you want and they trust you not to lead them astray. Oh sure, that's also part of leading a victim to their painful demise but really, unless you're possessed how much harm can a dance do? No, I can see it all, the lights dim, Tia Carrere in the background, that saxophone and the chorus…"

"You know how to dance?" she asked skeptically, grasping onto the only thing that made any sense to her.

"There's only one way for you to find that one out," Bain challenged. "Nine o'clock. That way we can show up 'fashionably late' and miss out on the ridiculous show that the morons around here consider 'dancing'."

So…out of nowhere, Bain buys her a pass into the Homecoming dance and he wanted to show up late for it? Then what the hell was the point of it?

"When it comes to fulfilling fantasies, dear Charlotte," Bain said as he pried her hands off him, "price amounts to nothing. I know what fantasies drive you and for one night, I'm going to be willing to grant one of them in exchange for you aiding in granting one of mine. And trust me, I know what it is you want." He smirked at her. "Little Tammy told me."

And "Little Tammy" had a big mouth. That was the last time she confided anything personal to that girl until she was a preteen and she had some blackmail material on the girl.

"Wait…or maybe it was Stella," Bain corrected, his eyes lifting upwards in thought. "What was your mother thinking in having so many children?"

Okay, now that she could work with. Grabbing him tightly, she stretched her lips out in a painful parody of a smile, one that promised a lot of pain and hurt for the person receiving it.

"And I thought you were smart," she said, her voice tight with suppressed rage.

Say what you wanted about her, never bad mouth her family in front of her. It was too bad that for such a smart guy, Bain never seemed to figure this little fact out.

* * *

Stan was tired when he finally arrived home, the one place he was currently dreading to be at this point in time. He was physically exhausted due to the coach working them harder this evening in preparation for the Homecoming game. He really wanted to make sure they won didn't he? Probably had gotten one too many death threats detailing gruesome tortures if he lost this game.

Yeah, Stan could totally see the adults of South Park doing such a thing.

"Staaaan? Is that you?" he heard his dad rasp as he entered the living room. There was that drunk retard in Grandpa's spare wheelchair, shaved head and all, and a mess of empty beer bottles laying on the floor all around him. "It's so great to see you son," Randy Marsh said mournfully. "To think that any day now, I will die. I can't believe super-AIDS hasn't killed me yet."

"Dad, you need to take better care of yourself," the teen sighed as he bent down next to his father and began gathering all the empty bottles.

"Why should I?" the older Marsh demanded. "The beer isn't going to kill me so why bother trying to do healthy things? I might as well do all the things that are bad for me, like a Cuban cigar. That's not a bad idea. Staaaan? Can you go find me a Cuban cigar real quick? Hurry, I don't think I have much time because the super-AIDS is really killing my ass."

"Dad, I'm not going to get you a Cuban cigar," Stan stated, clinching his jaw tightly. "Aren't those illegal?"

"Because of those damn Commie bastards," Randy Marsh explained. "Staaan. Won't you fulfill your old man's dying wish?"

"Dad, I already fulfilled your dying wish a week ago and the week before that," Stan answered, subtly glaring at the man. "First it was finding you some absinthe because you wanted to see the green fairy," the teen began listing off, "and after that it was getting a claw from Kyle's pet Cerberus because you thought it might cure your super-AIDS but all that did was destroy our garage and it would have been more had Kyle not come along. So no, I am not getting you a Cuban cigar and possibly having the government after me because it has some kind of therapeutic effect, thank you very much!"

"Therapeutic effect? My god, it could help me fight super-AIDS!" Randy Marsh reasoned.

"Oh Jesus," Stan swore as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Stan! Quickly! Get me a Cuban cigar! It's the only chance I've got!" the sickly man declared.

Instead, Stan stood up and took the empty bottles he had to the kitchen to throw away, determined not to do as he father told him.

"Stan! I am your father! Stan? STAAAAN!"


	18. The Magic of Homecoming

Author's Note: This, folks, is my longest chapter to date. It's over 18,000 words last I checked and far exceeds the word count for the last chapter of _Stranger in those Homicidal Eyes_. In fact, this chapter is so long that I had considered breaking it into two but then I kept on writing and writing and it got to the point that I wanted to keep it as one whole chapter. This is the reason I did not update last week but hopefully this was sate your appetite for this story for another two weeks.

Anyway, I'm not going to try and spoil anything but there are sexual themes if not vague descriptions of sexual activities occurring in this chapter. With what happens, I am raising this fic's rating to an M. I am firm in my belief that this story is not just courting this rating, it has entered into this one. I totally expect people to lose track of it as it will no longer be on the main page anymore.

So, not to keep you guys any longer, there's a lot of stuff for you to enjoy whether you like it or hate it. Make a note of the rating boost for future reference and without further ado, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, sexual situations, rape, death

The Magic of Homecoming

From across the street, Kyle watched as the last of the basketball court that he had played on for most of his life was finished being torn down. The last of the basketball goals were taken apart before his eyes, brown dirt replacing what was once a concrete slab. So it was over, huh. The one place he could go to release his pent up stress was gone.

The only way this could get any worse was if he found out Cartman was being it. The fatass, no matter how much weight he lost, would be capable of destroying childhood memories, even his own, if it meant that it would hurt him.

Gary stood beside him, also watching the desolation having chosen to come to the Jew's side and give him whatever support he might need to face this courtless reality.

"I can't believe it's gone," the blond Mormon said. Kyle grunted in reply, unable to say anything more to that. "We had so many good times there," the blond continued, "and I was actually getting good at playing basketball thanks to you."

"Why would someone pick now of all times to tear it up?" Kyle growled out, a glare forming on his face as he directed it towards the construction workers, a few of them shivering at the malice that was being directed towards them.

"I guess it's because people can only think about themselves before others," Gary sighed as he scuffed one of his shoes into the sidewalk. "No one takes the time to think that people use what they plan on tearing down and when there isn't a lot of loud voices, ignore those who speak up."

"Goddamn developers," Kyle snarled as he kicked at a nearby can littered nearby because someone was too lazy to throw it away in a trashcan. The can itself was sent bouncing against the concrete of the sidewalk, slowing coming to a stop when it ran out of momentum. "All those assholes want to do is build on anything that doesn't have anything on it and tear down old ones because they want to 'modernize' it. They're more like destroyers than they are developers."

"Well, look at the bright side," Gary said, trying to cheer the redhead up. "There's more than one basketball court in the county. We can just go to one of those and play."

"Play in Middle Park and North Park?" Kyle frowned. "The assholes who live there would pick us out of a crowd in no time and kick our asses because we're not good enough for them. The closest court where no one would discriminate against us is in Denver and that's too far of a drive to just shoot some hoops."

"We can always build another one," Gary suggested. "Or we could put a basketball hoop on one of our garages."

"My mother won't do shit because she feels she's burdening herself by letting Cerberus, Dip, and Marley stay," Kyle snarked. "Your family's too busy shelling out cash to put your older siblings through college. The only place I'm going to find any time to shoot some hoops is at college and it's still the fall semester of my senior year. It'll be about ten months before I can get out of this fucking town and all its fucking weirdness."

Gary winced at the language but said nothing. No matter how self-centered Kyle was sounding like, the Mormon knew the Jew needed to get this off his chest. However, Gary knew he couldn't stick around forever; he had another person who still needed comfort. Kyra was still depressed from the vomit incident and it had taken Gary a lot of persuasion for the girl not to revoke her invitation to Stan to play games online.

The things he did to be a good person.

"We'll find a way to around this," he told Kyle, confident in his own words. "Where there's a will, there's a way and all that. Just think positive; things will work out on their own."

"Perhaps, once I find the asshole who tore the court up," Kyle mumbled. "How hard would it be to find a large, muscular, red-skinned woman with a blonde wig and horns?"

Odd description though Gary didn't doubt Kyle had asked around about that one. "You gonna be okay?" he asked instead. "I need to go check up on Kyra."

Kyle looked over at him and raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with that girl anyway? Every time I've seen her, she's moping or looking depressed."

"She's still suffering from Stan's rejection," the Mormon told him honestly. "She's told me she has nightmares of walking up to Stan to ask him out and he only opens his mouth to chunk his cookies at her. Then she finds herself drowning in vomit. It's really gotten to her."

"Wait, are you saying Kyra's the girl Stan threw up on a couple weeks ago?" Kyle asked, holding up a hand as if to stop the conversation.

"Yeah, she's the one," Gary answered. "If you asked me, that was a cruel way of Stan to reject her."

"Dude, you misunderstand," Kyle said. "Don't you know? Stan only throws up on girls he _likes_. He threw up on Wendy all the time when they were kids, the first Wendy not the second one."

Gary gave the Jew an incredulous look. "Are you pulling my leg?"

"Completely serious," Kyle said solemnly. "When he never threw up on the second Wendy, I knew that relationship wouldn't last for long. He only chose the second Wendy because of her breasts anyway." The redhead paused, his mouth slightly open as something clicked in his head and if there had been a lightbulb overhead, it would have clicked on.

A few feet away, a lamppost flickered on though its light was masked by the power of the sun.

"You know what, maybe you should have Kyra to come to the Homecoming Dance and force her or Stan to stand next to one or the other. If Stan throws up on her…again, that'll definitely mean he likes her."

"What makes you think there's any merit to that?" Gary asked quietly. While he wanted to hope that Kyle was telling the truth, there was no way he wanted to subject Kyra to more torment than she already had experienced.

"Dude, I'm Stan's best friend, I know all about his little quirks," Kyle replied. "If anything, I should be the concerned one here. Stan has a tendency to put his whole self into a relationship and when that relationship ends he tends to be utterly crushed. I mean, he became one of the Goth kids it got so bad. So, get Kyra dressed in something can either be thrown away but still look pretty and I guarantee, tonight will open up a new world for two people."

"Are you sure about this?" Gary asked one more time.

"Gary, if anything should happen, I'll take full responsibility," he said. "The only thing we have to worry about is if Wendy, the first one not the second one, is around. Wendy…can get a bit zealous when it comes to protecting what she considers to be hers. She can be a bit…dangerous if someone doesn't keep an eye on her."

"If you say so," Gary said doubtfully though his face soon beamed with the news. "I'll go get Kyra! She is going to be so happy about this!"

As the Mormon ran off, Kyle watched the blond form shrink the further he moved away. Well, at least there were _two_ happy people in this town. And if they weren't happy now, they were going to be. The things he did to keep his best friend happy. He deserved some kind of freakin' medal for his patience.

But that still left him alone and without a basketball court. He guessed that some people in this life were destined for unhappiness.

And it looked like he was one of those.

* * *

Stan knew he was cutting this close but something needed to be done about his father. He was tired of all this AIDS—excuse him, "super-AIDS" bullshit. By now, his father was using the damn disease as a crutch, as a way to get out of having to do things a healthy middle-aged man should be doing, such as working and providing for his family.

He had to travel all the way to Fort Collins for this, where there was a center for the Center for Disease Control or CDC. Under one arm, he held the file on his father, one he had "borrowed" from the doctor at Hell's Pass. Perhaps he could find out more about super-AIDS here than he could in South Park but he'd have to be quick.

He had cut out of his afternoon classes and if things went swimmingly, he'd be back in time for the Homecoming Game.

The things he did to get his father to stop acting like an r-tard.

As he entered the lobby of the CDC, he confidently strolled up to the front desk and asked the woman stationed there that he had an appointment.

"One minute sir," the woman had answered as she picked up a phone, calling up one of the many doctors that worked and researched here.

In a quick, efficient, and professional manner that you would never see in a real doctor's waiting room, the man that Stan had come to see, Dr. Hung Lo, arrived.

Instead of the usual Asian accent you would expect from a man of Asian descent, the doctor instead spoke in a clear baritone. "Ah, Stan Marsh, I have been expecting you. Come, we have much to talk about."

Finally, he was getting somewhere.

He followed after the doctor, quickening his stride so that he walked side by side with the man. The man led him down a series of hallways, passing rooms where the South Park native could see researchers in the midst of experiments and calculations. It looked so professional, so unlike what he was used to but then again occasionally he'd spot a researcher or two sleeping on the job because, hey, this was a government job and people who worked for the government tended to waste time and play around.

Yet it was normal, more normal than Stan ever thought he'd ever find. Maybe that's what he should do; go to college and major in sciences or whatever it was that qualified someone to work for the CDC.

He wanted some normalcy Goddamn it!

"So what brings you here, Mr. Marsh?" Dr. Lo asked as he escorted him into a private office.

Deciding to get to the point, Stan said, "I want to know everything about super-AIDS. What does it do, how do you catch it, and other stuff like that."

"Why the interest?" Dr. Lo asked.

"My father has it but I think there's something not right about it," he said honestly.

"How long has he had it?" Dr. Lo asked.

"Since September," Stan shrugged.

"That doesn't sound right," Dr. Lo muttered. "Tell me, Stan, has your father developed any large lesions on his body? By large I mean like three feet long lesions."

"Um, no?" Stan answered hesitantly.

"Has he coughed up any blood? Has his skin turned grey? Has he developed an insatiable appetite for brains?" The questions were coming rapid-fire and Stan found that the one answer he kept giving was "no."

"Hmm. This is a strange case," Dr. Lo said at last, his hands clasped in front of his face as he leaned on his elbows, said elbows propped up on his desk. "And he's had this disease since September? The fact that he's still alive is somewhat concerning."

"Okay, so how do you get this AIDS?" Stan asked.

"Super-AIDS," Dr. Lo corrected. "How you get it is usually through fluid transmission. You know, like through blood transmissions, sexual intercourse, swapping spit, ookie mouth, two girls one cup. There is a possibility that like crabs, you can get it from a super-AIDS infested toilet seat but that's something we're still working on."

Before Stan could ask another question, the door to the doctor's office open and a Chinese speaking intern said something that the All-American jock could not understand. In response, Dr. Lo spoke Chinese back, sounding just like an angry Chinese man. Instead of sounding like an intellectual, he reminded Stan of the City Wok guy.

He continued to stare as whatever conversation was occurring flew right over his head in angry Chinese before the intern turned around and began grumbling under his breath. That prompted one last angry response from the doctor before he regained his composure and continued talking to Stan calmly, as if nothing had ever occurred.

"Excuse my associate there, he's an intern."

"So he's a n00b," Stan translated.

"Exactly," Dr. Lo agreed. "Now, as you were asking about super-AIDS, Mr. Marsh, we here at the CDC are still trying to understand what makes this disease tick, what it does and how it gets transmitted and what not. At this point in time, the only thing we can really say for certain is that we can determine who has super-AIDS and who doesn't."

A bit disappointing but it had led up to a topic that Stan had been wanting to get to before he left. "Hey, can you look over my father's results? Maybe redo his tests so I can be really sure that he does have super-AIDS and is not totally overreacting?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Marsh but we at the CDC are doing important work and we just can't take someone's lab reports and redo them," Dr. Lo explained.

"What about if I give you fifty bucks and the cheat codes on how to get the super strong items in World of Warcraft?" Stan asked.

"Let's have a look at what's going with your father," Dr. Lo said as he began skimming through the file.

* * *

The best kept lights in all of South Park could safely be said to be those at the football field. While not a stadium per se, the field itself had held countless football games where the Cows had faced triumph and mostly crushing defeat and thus held many fond memories of the many adults, a good amount of whom were parents.

Parents who were indulging themselves a bit much with one more beer than they should have drank.

"C'mon Cows!" one drunk Jimbo Kern yelled out as a Middle Park player sacked a Cow and quite harshly. "Show those bastards hell! You can do this!"

While normally Jimbo like every other South Park Cow fan would be blind to the fact that the Cows would be having their asses handed to them, for once it looked like South Park might actually win this one. No really, even though it was only halfway through the second quarter, the score was only seven to six…Middle Park leading.

Jimbo could happily say, or claim, that the reason for this was the fact that it was _his_ nephew who was the quarterback.

Ah, it was just like back in the good old days when he remembered cheering his nephew's team on when they were just little eight-year olds. Sweet memories…though this time he refused to rig Middle Park's mascot with a bomb and that was only because he couldn't find the cash this year to get one.

"Jimbo, you have made me the happiest man in the world," Randy Marsh, Jimbo's poor, sick brother said as he puffed on a good ol' Cuban.

"Yeah, it was the least I could do," Jimbo said, sobering up slightly as the mortality of his brother who could be on his deathbed at any minute. He could only pray that the Cows won tonight's game so that the wheelchair bound man would at least have one happy memory before he kicked the bucket. "Anything to try to lift the burden of your AIDS."

"Super-AIDS," Randy corrected as he let out a puff of smoke, "and yes Jimbo, I'm feeling so much better already. I can feel the therapeutic effects of the Cigar throughout my body."

Ah, his poor deluded brother. No sense in popping his bubble that the cigar wouldn't do a thing to help him.

"Well, it's a good thing Stan got here in time," Jimbo said, trying to change the topic. No sense in dwelling on Randy's AIDS and all.

"Yeah and he's not late," Stewart McCormick agreed as he took a long swig from his beer.

"Stewart! You should know better than to talk about that kind of stuff," Gerald Broflovski chastised. "It wasn't Stan's fault he was late to that game anyway; it was that Big Gay Al fellow."

"Look, look guys, it doesn't matter if he was late or not, he's here now," Jimbo argued. "Isn't that right Ned?"

Pressing the vibrating control to his neck, Ned answered, "That is right."

"See?" Jimbo said as if that was all the support he needed.

"Of course it's right," Chris Stotch agreed. "I can only sit here and wonder what happened to make my own boy a spineless pussy and not have him out there on the field, helping to carry the team to victory."

"But at least we know where the Cartman boy gets his talents," Jimbo whistled at an impressive block by the husky teen. "Damn, that Bronco blood really does make a difference."

"At least my boy has his own talent," Randy Marsh spoke before he began to yell his lungs out, trying to call out to the Cows' quarterback. "Staaan! Staaan, can you hear me? Win this for me Staaan! WIN THIS FOR ME!"

Pausing from the huddle he was in, Stan pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated by his father's presence. It hadn't been easy getting back to South Park in time and damn it, he was not in the mood for the usual shenanigans.

"Focus hippie!" Cartman ordered. "We can still win this game asshole and I'm not going to let you lose this one for me so snap out of it!"

"Yeah!" the other players agreed, staring at Stan expectantly.

"You think he heard me?" Randy asked his brother, looking more frail than he had a moment before.

"I'm sure he did, Randy," Jimbo tried to comfort the man. "I'm sure he did."

"He's my son, I know he can do this," Randy swore, pausing as he coughed, his illness taking its toll once again on his body.

"Just hang in there Randy, we're going to win this one," Jimbo said, holding his brother's hand between both of his own.

The position, strangely enough, made the two men look like they were lovers than anything else.

"Freakin' gay," Stuart muttered under his breath, not wanting to think about the reason why _his_ son was not on the field in the sense that the other boys down there were. To think a McCormick would stoop as low as to be a cheerleader of all things! If that didn't have queer written all over it, Stuart didn't know what did. He could only hope that no one else would bring that topic up.

"Mmmm. Stuart. Is that your boy with the cheerleaders?" Ned asked in this fuzzy monotone.

Goddamn it.

* * *

If there was a silver lining in this, Rod supposed, his mother at least had good tastes in cars. Not that he would admit to the fact that he was driving around town in his _mother__'__s_ borrowed car. If it had been his father's, there would some leeway at least but damn it, his parents were retarded, he swore.

After so long being landed with no wheels, his parents had finally gotten around to getting himself something he could get around it. That something, as it turned out, was his mom's car. If anybody found that out…ugh.

Maybe it was because she liked her cars being expensive but the fact that he was in a 2008 Cadillac STS with a 3.6 liter V6 engine, Bose surround-sound system with fifteen speakers, leather seats, and OnStar in case he got lost, he definitely found there was a silver lining in all this. Of course, his mother being the automobile n00b that she was didn't understand the concept of a car like this (though to be honest neither did he but it was appearances damn it), she didn't have a clue of just what she was letting him borrow.

He was going to look cool so long as he didn't reveal the fact that this was his mom's car. Awesome. All he needed to do was keep it a secret himself and no one would be the wiser.

Over the past couple of days, he had found himself very amused by all the shit that was going on in this town. Everyone was so excited for Homecoming of all things when he knew that it was Prom that was the more important of the two. Really, Homecoming was more for the retards who graduated years ago, a time where they could feel special instead of the dumbass losers they really were.

He'd be inclined to pity them…but he was just too busy being good-looking for the ladies to do so.

Speaking of ladies, he should be pulling up to Devin's house soon. The girl ought to appreciate the effort he was putting into this. He had left his hat home and dressed somewhat formally. Who dressed formally for a Homecoming dance? Especially since there was the big Homecoming game that was playing out currently. This town was seriously backwards.

But, if it got him some ass, he'd fucking dress up as a clown and throw pies into people's faces if he had to…not that he was going to be dressing up as a clown any time soon.

Coming to a stop in front of the house where Devin said she lived, his grip on the steering wheel was hard though not to the point where his knuckles were turning white. He wasn't nervous, just frustrated at some of the things he had to do to get some fucking done around this place.

For some of the girls he had done, he had definitely put too much effort into going after them because as soon as he got them on a bed, they stopped moving and expected him to do all the work. No fun at all when a little struggle for dominance would spice things up and make it _hot_. Smoking hot.

Calmly, he removed a hand from the steering wheel only to press it down over the horn. There was no way he was going to get out of this car just to pick someone up. Getting to know a girl's parents just took too much energy and what would it matter that once he had done the girl, he was never going to be with her or see her parents again? Really.

He smirked as he saw the light from the front door spill out as the piece of wood moved and Devin appeared, shouting something back into the house before slamming it closed and making her way to the car. She didn't have to be close for him to see that she was impressed with his set of wheels and he could tell that he was already in the in-zone with her.

This was going to be so easy.

"Hey Rod," Devin greeted as she climbed into the passenger seat. "Been waiting long?" she asked, flipping her over her shoulder.

Probably thought that made her look cute or sexy, Rod thought to himself. Well, if she thought she had charm, he was going to lay it on her.

"Just got here," he answered as he lifted his foot slowly off the brake and placed it on the accelerator. "Quick little thing aren't you? You were probably done making yourself look prettier an hour ago and was waiting for me to show up. You didn't have to do that; you're beautiful just as you are," he teased.

"Ooh, laying it on a bit thickly, aren't you?" she teased back.

"Maybe," he drawled out. "You love it."

"Perhaps," Devin said, "but perhaps not. You might just be making me think you're one of those jerks who only think about sex."

Rod congratulated himself for not wincing; somehow, out of all the girls he had been with, she had pegged him before she had ever slept with him. Of all the girls…it had to be her. It just had to be the one that was trying to hump his leg like a dog in heat.

"What if that's what I want you to think?" he asked challengingly. No better way to try and get rid of a nasty thought than to take it head on before it had time to mess everything up.

"I'd ask what the hell are you doing taking me out to have fun at a dance?" Devin replied. Winking at him, she stretched herself out in the seat she was in, her eyes half-lidded as if begging him to take her right then and there. "Like what you see?"

He was really tempted to take her up on the offer.

"I likey a lot," he answered, keeping one eye on the road and the other on her. Yes, make it look like you're paying attention to her yet make sure you don't turn this piece of automobile beauty into a hunk of flaming metal. "But what's the point in life if you don't enjoy the smaller things?" he asked.

"True," Devin agreed.

"And anyway, I bet you're a great dancer," he said, smirking. "You could show everyone a thing or two once you let loose, I bet."

"Now you're really laying it on," Devin said.

"But you like it," he taunted.

"Oh yeah, I like it a lot," she said, echoing somewhat what he had said earlier.

If only she knew what he was thinking, that she was one of the easiest girls he had ever tried to land.

Well, he'd be sure to tell her after the credits had rolled.

* * *

Half-time had arrived and for anyone playing or watching a Homecoming game, you knew what time it was.

The announcement of who the Homecoming Queen…and the easily forgettable King was.

This was going to make half-time longer by two minutes. Two minutes Randy Marsh didn't have to spare but what the hell did Stan care? It was two minutes wasted on something that he already knew the answer to. Everyone knew that it was going to be either Wendy or Bebe who was the Homecoming Queen and then either him or Token as the King. Even with their joke candidate of girl with oversized rack and sympathetic candidate being Timmy, Stan knew who it was obviously going to be crowned so why did the adults in charge go through the motions?

"Hey, I bet I'm going to be Homecoming King," Cartman spoke up, chuckling between words.

Oh yeah, that's right. This town was full of conservative retards. They didn't know any better.

There they were, the entire team of Cows waiting out to a side while they watched Principal Victoria walk out onto the field, Mr. Mackey at her side to get this shit over with so they could get back to playing. Why was the coach making them come out here again and watch this?

"There's no way in hell anybody would vote you to be King, Cartman," Craig stated, not deigning to send a look at the bigot.

"Oh? How would you know that, _Craig_? Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?" Cartman asked challengingly.

"C'mon you guys, let's just get this thing over with," Stan grumbled, trying to interrupt anything that might happen before it could escalate.

"What, are you nervous Stan?" Cartman taunted. "Well, I would be too if I were in your shoes."

"Cartman, if I'd be more nervous that you'd be nominated to be King," Stan retorted. "That'd mean that our class is doomed to go the way of our retard parents."

A bunch of the other players quickly made a Hail Mary motion with their hands, said hands zipping from their foreheads to their chest then from shoulder to shoulder.

"Hey, I'm cool!" Cartman protested. "I've got Bronco blood in me! You guys all think I'm cool, right?"

Again, a good amount of the boys looked towards Cartman then quickly away as if not wanting to piss him off further.

"Ey! What's that suppose to mean?" Cartman demanded.

Before the fatboy as he would forever be remembered by his peers could say anything else, Principal Victoria had started the Homecoming Ceremony.

"Welcome all to the eightieth annual Homecoming Celebration, citizens of South Park!" the women announced via microphone. "We are proud to…" at this point Stan began to tune the woman out as she was just going to be thanking Middle Park for coming to play against them.

Honestly, thanking your greatest rival to a game where losing would forever tarnish whatever future you may have and have everyone in your life think of you as a loser? God, couldn't they have played a team that, you know, they could have kicked the asses of?

As Tweek would say, if he was here, this was too much pressure.

"And now for the moment you have all been waiting for, the candidates for this year's Homecoming crowns!" Ah, here was the best part, the part where they were going to get this crap all over with. Stan squared his shoulders and stood taller, knowing that his name would soon be called.

"Our first nominees are, surprise surprise, Wendy Testaburger and Stan Marsh!" There was his cue. As he walked out, knowing that Wendy would soon meet up with him towards where Principal Victoria and Mr. Mackey waited, he could hear Mr. Mackey begin to explain to the crowd of South Park parents and others who he and Wendy were.

"M'kay, it says here that Wendy Testaburger plans to go to college after graduation, Harvard to be precise. Wow, that's pretty good, way to go Wendy. Anyway, once she goes, she plans on entering law school and eventually entering politics. In her free time, she enjoys hanging out with her friends, getting involved in political causes, and…m'kay, it says here spreading breast cancer awareness and beating up any fat assholes who try to make light of it, this means you Eric Cartman. Huh, that was pretty long. Anyway, Stan Marsh, it says here, says that he also plans to go to college, preferably the University of Colorado and growing up to be the next John Elway. In his free time, he too likes hanging out with his friends…and…and…um, Mr. Marsh, could you please calm down, m'kay?"

In the stands, Randy Marsh was busy, once again, making an ass out of himself and further embarrassing Stan who had to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Stan! Way to go! You make an old man's heart proud! Give 'em hell! Wait, I thought this was America! Let me speak! I thought this was America!"

At least he was also embarrassing Uncle Jimbo and the rest of his drinking buddies who were trying to calm him down…and reseat him in his borrowed wheelchair that he "magically" was not sitting in anymore.

"M'kay, parents, if you would please remain calm until after we crown the next Homecoming King and Queen, we would very much appreciate it," Mr. Mackey said, hoping against hope that he would be listened to.

As halftime dragged on, Stan was not surprised about three of the other four couples that were nominated. There was Clyde with Bebe, Token with that Red girl who he remembered going to elementary school with but never interacting with, stereotypical joke nominee with large breasts and Timmy, but that last nominee surprised him.

"For our last nominees, we have…Gwendolyn Ashley Long and…Eric Cartman?" Principal Victoria announced though you could hear the confusion in her voice.

"Yes! Yes! Ha!" Cartman crowed as he ran out to take his place, flanked by…wait a freakin' moment, was that Wendy 2? What was she doing here? And with Cartman!

Unbeknownst to him, he didn't hear either Cartman or Wendy 2 speaking to one another quietly.

"See? I told you it'd be easy switching our names into the ballots," Cartman muttered to Gwendolyn.

"You better be right about this," Gwendolyn growled under her breath. "I'm going to be crowned with Stan, right?"

"Of course, of course, everything has been taken care of," Cartman said dismissively. Oh, he had taken care of things all right…

"Quiet, quiet folks, it's time to announce our runner-ups to this year's Homecoming King and Queen," Principal Victoria said, trying to get the loud and raucous applause to quiet down some. Taking an envelope that had been handed to her by Mr. Mackey, she opened it and peered at the names that were typed on the card within. "For runner-up for Homecoming Queen and King, we have…Bebe Stevens and Eric Cartman!"

Stan could see Bebe blink in surprise but he had to admit that she recovered quickly. She slapped on a smile, no matter how faked it looked to those closest to her, and walked away from Clyde towards the podium where Principal Victoria and Mr. Mackey awaited. Cartman, meanwhile, was celebrating as if he had been crowned king. …wait a minute.

"Yes! Yes! I knew I was cool! I knew it!" Cartman cried out happily. Stopping over by Stan he pointed a beefy finger into the jock's face. "Take that Stan! I'm the Homecoming King!"

You know, for once Stan was going to let Cartman find out just how wrong he was. By himself.

"Wow, you seem pretty excited Eric," Principal Victoria commented as she pretty much watched Cartman do a little jig as he made his way over to her.

"This is the greatest day of my life!" Tears of joy were pouring out from the fatass's eyes as he took Bebe's free arm and waved a hand in the air.

"That's good for you," Principal Victoria said before turning back towards the audience of parents and other adults. "Now, it is time to announce who this year's Homecoming Queen and King are!"

Stan couldn't help but smirk as he watched Cartman freeze in place.

"What? But I'm Homecoming King!" Cartman protested.

"No, Eric, you're the runner-up," Principal Victoria explained, her hand over the microphone so that no one could hear or at least make out what she was saying to him. "You're just second place."

"Second place? But…but…" Cartman seemed to be having trouble understanding but even that would not stop Principal Victoria from doing her job and lifting the suspense that had embroiled their audience.

"Everybody put your hands together as this year's Homecoming Queen and King are…" She took another envelope from Mr. Mackey and opened it, pulling out the card from within and reading its secret. "Gwendolyn Ashley Long and Timmy Burch!"

"What?" Stan found himself asking. He…hadn't expected that, especially once the implications of it had hit him.

He wasn't the only one saying "What?" either. Beside him, Wendy was asking the same thing but more out of confusion as she was trying to be sure she heard correct. Gwendolyn was asking that because while she had just been crowned Queen, her King was not Stan as Cartman had promised. Instead it was—

"TIMMY!" Timmy exclaimed as he wheeled up in his motorized wheelchair where Mr. Mackey graciously placed a thin, plastic crown that was much too small for his oversized head.

Cartman, meanwhile, who had rigged the results of the ballot box for King and Queen of Homecoming, not that anybody paid much attention to their votes when making them, could only stare in disbelief at what had just happened. He…he was second place to a handicapped person. A handicapped person…who only knew how to say his first name…

God-FUCKING-damn-it!

Meanwhile, in the stands, Randy Marsh was busy having an episode. "No. No! NOOOO!" the overdramatic man cried out and his brother and various friends had to restrain him so that he didn't hurt himself…more than he was able to at least. "This can't be right! This isn't right! My son is a loser! My son is a LOSER!"

All in all, it was just another night at the football field in South Park.

* * *

If being forced by your mother to showing up early to a Homecoming dance was not a sign of loserdom, then Kyle didn't know what was. Even if it seemed like Sheila Broflovski was mellowing out, Kyle knew better. He always knew better. That woman was still as fiery and passionate as she had been when he was eight years old. The only difference between then and now was that she had found a lack of causes in which to be interested in.

That, of course, left her plenty of time to meddle in his life.

"You need to get out more, get a girlfriend," he said mockingly under his breath, repeating the words his mother had said to him before she had stuffed him in this way too formal suit and tie. He was lucky that he had been able to hide his favorite ushanka and dodge the yarmulke that she wanted to stick on instead.

As soon as he had been out of her line of sight, he had placed his signature hat on and made his way to the school gym, passing up on going to the football game. It wasn't because he didn't want anyone to see him in this get up at such an event but because he didn't want to get this tux dirtied. Heaven help him if he came back home and his mother saw this shit messed up.

It was times like these that, he didn't know, maybe he should have been involved with the band or tried out for the football team or something? Maybe that way, he could have had an excuse to escape his mother's clutches. He so did not want to be around her when it was Prom time.

So he was sitting in the bleachers, staring out on the sparsely populated room. He knew it, and these geeks out there knew it, that this dance was not going to be rocketing anywhere until after the game was over and the team came in either victorious or defeated. Checking his watch, he made a note of the time and made some mental calculations of how far along the game was.

If twelve minutes were spread out enough and the halftime show, which was most likely when the Homecoming Queen and King were being announced, took longer than usual…then what, they should be a couple minutes into the fourth quarter?

So maybe another twenty minutes until the game itself was over. Glancing around, he had begun noticing some more people were arriving and that the disc jockey hired for this was now starting to take his job more seriously. Looked like some people were cutting out from the game early and telling by some of the talk, it sounded like things were going well for the Cows. Yay team. He rolled his eyes and huffed, placing his chin on his hands, his elbows propped up on his knees.

He did not want to be here because even before he had been forced to buy a ticket that this was going to suck for him. For some odd reason, no one had approached him as a possible candidate to go to this dance with but then again, if he recalled correctly he had made that…declaration a bit ago. You know, the one where he yelled at Cartman that he was gay? Yeah, that probably had a lot to do with it.

Just another thing to blame Damien for since for some reason, whenever he _thought_ about trying out the waters, so to speak, he would see that demonic bastard's eyes and have to back up, more mentally and physically. Did that guy leave some mark on him? And if so, why hadn't he heard from the asshole in so long?

The only time he hadn't heard from _anybody_ in about the same length of time since that incident at Shakey's was when Butters had been grounded. The Stotches were really getting more and more severe with their grounding methods. He wouldn't be surprised if Butters disappeared one day and he wouldn't see the kid for, say, ten years.

Even he shuddered at the thought of being cut off from the rest of the world and the thought of that happening to anybody he knew was enough to give him material for his late night nightmares.

He felt the vibrations caused by other students climbing onto the bleachers, said students looking for a seat to either share with their dates or hang out with their friends. They weren't quiet about it so that was how the Jew was able to hear someone approach him with him not having to look up to know that someone was coming towards him.

It was the identity of who it was that held more surprise for Kyle than anything.

"Gary?" he asked, frowning slightly. Huh, why was the blond coming up to him and in this place of all places?

"Hey Kyle," the Mormon greeted, that ever-present smile of his on his face. "Have you seen Stan around?"

Kyle's eyes flickered over to where he noticed a shy looking brunette who looked uncomfortable being here. It clicked in his mind who it was and why Gary was coming up to him, asking if he knew where his best friend was. Still trying to play matchmaker, huh?

"You should know he's on the football team, right?" he asked rhetorically. "He won't be in until the game's over so you might want to kill a little time first before trying to do…whatever it is that you're trying to do."

"Oh. Right," Gary nodded his head. "Forgot about that. Say, did you come with anyone? You look a bit lonely."

"Please, don't ask," Kyle said, holding up a hand as if to forestall any more questions. "It's been a long night and it's only just begun."

"Well, alright," Gary said. "I'll check up on you later, I guess."

"Yeah, you do that," Kyle said, dismissing the blond. "Word of advice, try not to get your hopes up too high. You might end up causing a riot in this town or something if you do one wrong move."

"I hear that," Gary laughed. "Catch you later."

After the blond was gone, Kyle let out another sigh as he scanned the growing crowd of students. Even though things were just getting started, they all looked like they were having a good time.

Why couldn't things be as easy for him?

* * *

Rod was far from impressed by the school gym. He had been to better Homecoming dances, especially since the school he used to attend could afford to send them to a better place like a skating rink or a dance hall. One even rented out a club if he recalled correctly. And there was no charging for tickets for those schools. Nope, they didn't even have tickets.

South Park was a tiny town and how else were they going to pay a DJ's fee anyway?

He was usually arm-in-arm with an older girl too. He knew he was good-looking, so much so that he had had girls from upper classes come up and ask him to get their dates to Homecoming and for Prom and he hadn't denied them so long as there was a promise he'd be getting some for his troubles.

He was cool like that.

At the moment, he was hanging back a bit, letting Devin chat with some of her friends, most likely bragging that she had managed to catch him for a date. That's what he'd be doing if he were in her shoes.

As things had turned out, taking his time getting here had been a good idea, especially since he had timed things so that he had gotten here with his date just as the football team was coming in, each player scrubbed as clean as they could and dressing up quickly in some formal clothes.

They put too much effort into it; all they needed was some khaki pants and a buttoned-up shirt and they would have been golden. He lifted his hand up to adjust his hat in a gesture long in-grained in him but cut himself short as he remembered once again he had left it at home. He kinda felt naked without it. In fact, he could be completely bare without a shred of cloth on him but as long as he had his hat planted on his head, he would feel as if he was completed clothed.

Strange, huh?

Enough about the hat, he was keeping his eyes trained on Devin's form, in particular that ass of hers that he found he had an urge to grope. Occasionally, he let his eyes wander to other forms, to admire the views of course, but inevitably his gaze would return to Devin. A couple times, she noticed him staring and he was amused at how she quickly turned to her friends, telling them that he was checking her out.

He could figure that part out because those friends of hers were then taking quick peeks at him to try and make sure that he was doing what Devin was claiming he was doing.

Girls were so easy to fool with. Once you put good looks into any equation a girl was involved in, it didn't matter what the situation was or what was going on. They'd turn into mindless boobs, exactly the same as what a hot-looking girl did guys all the time. Once you figured this out, girls were then so utterly predictable that you didn't need a crystal ball to know what they were thinking.

They were so freakin' shallow. The whole "having a good personality" was bullshit.

He let his gaze leave Devin for a moment, drifting around and catching sight of the Homecoming royalty. He could see that their Queen did not want to be anywhere near their King and he couldn't blame her. She was a beautiful girl, really, and that rack of hers didn't hurt at all, but that King…what kind of backwoods town chose a retarded kid? He had seen the kid before; the only word he knew was his own goddamn name.

The joke is old, okay? It was like that kid was so obsessed with himself, saying "Timmy!" all the time. Shouldn't he be in special ed. where he belonged? This whole school was so stupid.

That's when he spotted Wendy, the girl he had kept an eye on since he had first met her at that mall back in August. There she was…with that Stan Marsh douche. He should really be Stan Darsh, he was that much of a douche. Heh, he could already think of a song. Kinda went along the lines of just stay Stan Darsh over and over again but he had never tried to write a song before so you had to give him some leeway here.

Back to the matter at hand, Wendy was still with the zero and not with the hero. Well, it was time he tried and show her the error of her ways, eh?

He marched over towards where Devin was, doing his best to make it look like he was casually approaching her. He couldn't have it look like he was pissed off because then people would start asking questions and those questions would lead them to the fact he wanted to do Wendy and he knew for a fact that Devin hated Wendy with an unholy passion.

It would ultimately lead to him not doing two girls instead of getting to do both and he just…he just couldn't have that!

Pasting on a lazy smile, he stopped in front of highlighted brunette and relaxed into an easy stance, one that seemed to shout out that he was cool and comfortable with his surroundings and was in no way pissed off. Nope, not pissed off whatsoever over here. Devin looked up at him curiously and here was where he let his lazy smile transform into a lazy grin, his pearly whites flashing from behind his lips.

"It's boring here, ain't it?" he asked, boring his half-lidded eyes into her wider ones. "Want to liven things up here? Show everyone how to have a good time?"

Countless Hollywood movies, thank you for making this cliché so transparent. Really, things weren't as boring as he said it was but just by being a handsome devil, he could convince this crowd of girls that it was and what was needed to fix it was for him to take one of them out and jazz things up. Dances were boring anyway and while it looked like at this point some of the guys out there were trying to peel off their dates' clothes instead of, you know, dance with them, he figured it would be better to show these small town nobodies how to be raunchy and…well, just be raunchy without revealing anything.

And like always, Devin was taking his bait as she held out a hand to him, the smile on her face being one of anticipation. Rod had to take a second to think of all the ways he could to light this girl's fire and make her horny and without doing anything overly sexual.

Uh huh. Yeah. Okay. Yep, he could do it. He knew the female body better than a girl did and he knew all the right spots to touch. Oh yeah, time to show some of his stuff out there.

* * *

"You know Stan? I really missed this," Wendy said to the Marsh boy, Stan's heart fluttering at those words.

Oh how he loved to hear those words, even if it he usually heard them every other week. They broke up too much, you know? They needed to not break up as much. Why were they always breaking up?

Not that that mattered, they were together again and to prove it, Wendy had dragged him out onto the dance floor as soon as he showed up with the rest of the team. He didn't mind it one bit, especially as this served to be the cherry on an otherwise fantastic day. Well, maybe not fantastic but it was a great one. First they win their first Homecoming game since…well, since ever and even though the way the coach had kissed them all on the lips, thanking them that he got to spend another year alive, was creepy, it didn't put that much of a damper on things.

If anything, having Wendy come up to him first thing made this even greater.

But for some reason, there was something nagging him from the back of his mind. Eh, he'd figure out what it was later.

He clung onto Wendy, bringing her closer and allowing him to get a good whiff of that perfume she always wore which intoxicated him no matter how many times he smelled it. It was always something that he had associated with just Wendy and even if someone else used the same kind, in his mind, well, the smell was still Wendy no matter who else was wearing it.

"Wow, someone's feeling affectionate," Wendy teased him, the swaying of their hips causing her to ground into him, in particular his groin. Oh, those rubbing sensations…

"Always," he said throatily. He didn't have a clue as to what he was saying, whether he was agreeing with her or just saying it would always be touchy-feely with her, he didn't know. It just sounded like something cool to say at the time.

"Uh…Stan? What is that?"

He frowned when he didn't see anything immediately, only realizing that he still had his eyes closed and opened them. Huh, that explained why he was only seeing black; he had thought he had buried his face into Wendy's hair again. He noticed that Wendy was slightly pulled away (when did she do that?) and was looking at something also with a frown. He followed her gaze, looking up to find…

Was that that Rod guy and why was he molesting that poor girl on the dance floor? No really, he was behind that brunette whose name he couldn't recall at the moment and was grinding her ass with his crotch while groping her breasts with not one but two of his hands. Was that even legal to do in public?

It was disgusting to look at but at the same time…it was making him kinda hard.

It was Mr. Mackey to the rescue and the appalled school counselor was…well, appalled. Stan couldn't think of a better word to describe him as and he only knew the word appalled because Kyle had the tendency to use big words that made his head hurt every now and then.

He didn't hear what Mackey said to Rod and that girl but it had to be something that pissed the asshole off because the couple were now separated and Rod was yelling about how he thought this was America and wasn't this America and—wow, the dick sounded like his father did when he was drunk and had gotten into a bar fight.

Served him fucking right.

"Hey, Stan? That better be your wallet or things might get a bit tense around here," Wendy told him, shocking the jock out of his thoughts and bringing him back to reality.

Why was she asking him about his wallet? It was in his back pocket and—oh for Christ's sake!

* * *

Puppy dog eyes were a terror to behold. Kyra knew. It had been because of those damn eyes, used by Gary, that she was here of all places and being tortured to watch Stan dance around with Wendy…and not her…

Currently, Gary was using those eyes again only this time it was on Kyle. For the past five minutes, the Jew had withstood it but even Kyra could tell he was breaking down before it. Who knew that someone as big and physically strong as Gary could use the puppy dog eyes of all things?

"The answer's still no!" Kyle said with finality, doing his best not to look at those eyes but being exposed to them every time he peeked to see if Gary had given up. "Jesus Christ! Stop giving me that look!"

Oh no, Gary was wobbling the lip now. Kyra knew once Kyle saw that, whatever resistance he had left that could be measured in minutes would soon be reduced to seconds if not milliseconds. Such was that look's power…

And Kyle got a big dose of it as soon as she had ended that thought.

"Oh for God's sake, fine! I'll do it!" Kyle snapped, trying to retain some dignity from falling for one of the oldest tricks in the book. Kyra made a note to herself to practice up on her own look. Maybe that would help her in getting Stan to notice her more.

"Thank you Kyle!" Gary exclaimed, dropping the look in an instant, now resembling a giddy child more than anything.

"You owe me," Kyle threatened. "I don't see why you can't wait for s break like a normal person would. Shit, you're going to owe me big time for this."

"Let me worry about that, you get Stan," Gary assured the Jew as he shooed Kyle away from the bleachers.

"What are you trying to prove?" Kyra sighed to the blond who took his place right next to her. "If what Kyle said is true, I don't want to get thrown up on again."

"Don't worry, I came prepared," Gary promised her. "You'll thank me later."

A ways away, Kyra could see Kyle next to Stan having weaved through all the other couples that were around and it seemed to her that Stan didn't want to be leaving any time soon. This was making her so very nervous. What was Gary up to anyway? This had "home wrecking" all over it.

Her heartbeat began to quicken as she witnessed Kyle lead Stan out of the dance crowd and in her and Gary's general direction. Crap! What was she suppose to do, stand here and look pretty? Before she knew it, Gary was stepping ahead of her and keeping her out of Stan's sight with his body. Okay, now she was officially lost.

"Hey Stan! Long time no see!" Gary greeted happily.

"Dude, what is this all about? Can't you see I'm with Wendy right now?" the raven-haired jock demanded. It hurt Kyra a little on the inside to hear him say this but she resolved to stay strong and see this thing Gary was orchestrating to its end.

"Stan, I just wanted to ask you a question," Gary said innocently, earning him a snort from Kyle. Kyra couldn't tell you how she knew it was Kyle who snorted, she just did.

"Well make it fast. I gotta get back to Wendy," Stan grumbled as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

Wow, even ticked off and Stan was still so cute, Kyra thought to herself, doing her best to try and keep a pink flush from appearing on her cheeks.

"Okay, I need your honest opinion about this," Gary said slowly, as if cautioning Stan about something dangerous. "Please tell me, what do you think about her?"

The next thing she knew, Gary was stepping aside and revealing her to Stan who stared blandly at her. Her heart was positively hammering now, especially since those beautiful crystal blue eyes of the boy she was crushing on were now focused solely on her. He seemed to be staring at her for what seemed to be a second too long for Kyra's comfort and as she tried to shift her eyes elsewhere, she noticed that Stan's cheeks were puffing out slightly.

Oh shit—

Just as Stan was opening his mouth, Gary had taken hold of his head and jerked it to a side so that the spray of vomit that shot out did not hit her. Unfortunately for Gary, the direction he had turned Stan's head in also happened to be the same as where Kyle was standing and the Jew ended up taking the blast of stomach acid head on.

"Dude! Sick!" Kyle cried out as his green eyes flashed in fury at his best friend. Stan could only stare at the redhead who was glaring homicidal murder at him, unable to say one word as he tried to compute on what had just happened.

"Uh…oops?" Gary said, looking sheepish.

"Fuck off," Kyle stated. He didn't have to yell, didn't have to raise his voice or anything. The amount of venom in his voice was more than enough to shrivel even the most bravest of men's balls into grains of sand.

"Kyle, I'm s-s-sorry," Stan tried to apologize but the Jew had already spun on his heel and was marching off.

"Wow…that didn't go the way I wanted it," Gary said softly.

* * *

9 'o clock sharp was when they arrived and Charlotte was not in the mood to be coming here. The two of them were only going to be here, what, ten minutes? Max? But Bain had insisted even though they were way past fashionably late and more like dead-on late. The things she did for this maniac.

"Your mother has impeccable tastes," Bain observed as he walked at her side. "Let me guess, this isn't the first time she's forced you to play 'dress-up,' correct?"

She wasn't even going to dignify that with a response.

"At least this one fits better than that last one," Bain continued to comment. "Yes, that last one was a size too large wasn't it?"

"It was the right size, I just didn't eat for a while," she defended. "It was my fault, not her tastes."

"And the truth is revealed," Bain replied. "Still…she should have gone for a darker color. Light blue is so not you."

"If you weren't wearing red, I'd break your nose," she told him, staring straight ahead.

Straightening out the black sports jacket that covered the red button-down he wore, Bain gave her a look of smugness. "So everyone can see the damage, hmm? That's so like you, violence always being your first resort."

"It's the only resort," she retorted. "Now let's get this fucking thing over with."

"If you think this is going to be an in and out kind of operation, don't," Bain advised. "I want to take my time and that's the only way to it right. All you have to do is follow and allow me to take control."

Sheesh, talk about asking the impossible. She was always in control, she had to be. It was the only way she knew how to live and here was Bain, one of the most insane people she had ever met, telling her to give it up for who knew how long.

She so did not want to be here right now. Especially in a dress; she hated wearing dresses.

As if by magic, the doors to the school gymnasium opened for them but the magic was soon lost as Kyle Broflovski thundered past them, vomit staining his good suit and the look of anger scary enough to rival Bain's.

The pair of them watched the Jew stomp off but it was Bain who raised an eyebrow and commented, "Looks like they're having a wild time in there."

"And because you wanted to come late, we missed it," she sneered at him, hoping to piss him off so that he would forget this night.

Instead of replying, Bain only sniffed the air as if pointedly ignoring her. "I smell beef. Rib-eye perhaps?"

Now that he mentioned it… "Somebody had some beans tonight," she added, also taking a whiff and wrinkling her nose at the stench.

"Perhaps if we find the source, we'll find out what else was in that mix," Bain said as he took her arm with one of his own and led her into the gym. Only once they were past the threshold did she realize what he had done and she scowled at him.

Once again, he ignored her. Fucking asshole.

Bain had his head tilted, most likely listening to whatever song was being played and judging if it was time for that dance that he wanted from her. How was she suppose to know he had wanted one? If she had, she would have given it to him before her early morning duel-to-the-death with Jack. That way she could be home where she would only have to enjoy watching a movie with her family. Bain had a larger hand in these proceedings, she just knew it. How else would her mom be prepared with an outfit in time for tonight if Bain hadn't spilled the beans about his intentions to her?

Heh, that was kinda funny to think about. Now that her father was…yeah, not thinking about that, but nevertheless, since he wasn't able to, she wondered if her mother gave Bain the "what are your intentions towards my daughter" talk. And if her mother did indeed to that, did she tape it?

"You're smiling. What, pray tell, is going on in your so-called mind?" Bain interrupted her thoughts.

"None of your business," she sniffed.

"You can hide it all you want, I'll still find out," Bain warned.

"I'd be scared if you were a mindreader," she snarked back. "Can we go?"

"So impatient," Bain chided. "Haven't you learned yet that good things come if you wait?"

"Not with you," she replied. "With you, it's usually a knife in the side or some kind of psychological torture."

Bain stared at her for a moment before rolling his eyes and looking away. Looks like she struck a nerve, she thought grimly to herself.

Looking away from her "date," she scanned the rest of the gym, noting how there seemed to be a bit of a drama unfolding around Stan and Wendy though she could not hear what was going on over there. She had a feeling that the vomit on Kyle may have something to do with that.

In another direction, she could see Cartman with some Latin looking girl arguing about something, the girl gesturing wildly towards…Timmy? And why did Timmy have a crown on? Wouldn't it be something if that boy was Homecoming King?

Elsewhere, she could see Craig and his crew hanging out by the bleachers, and over there she could see Kenny with his arms on the shoulders of two girls. Huh, she had seen those two around looking at the poor boy and from here, it looked like Kenny was gearing up for a possible threeway if he could convince the girls to go along.

Good luck with that.

Hmm, she didn't see Christophe or Rhiannon anywhere but those two were still on the outs so she shouldn't be surprised that she wouldn't see them together. Sure their relationship, as friends, was mending, but they weren't "together" yet.

Suddenly, she felt herself being pulled and she dug her heels into the floor, slightly wincing at the screech she made. Okay, that was kinda loud and…

"What are you doing?" Bain demanded as he turned his head around only enough to glare at her with one eye.

"I should be asking that," she retorted.

"It's the moment that you've been waiting to get over," Bain mocked. "Stalling only means I keep you here _longer_ and for _more_ songs."

Okay, that was an effective argument.

"Whatever," she said as she allowed him to drag her out onto the dance floor. Bain and dancing, she would have never put those two words together before but hey, you learn new things every day. She could see a few of the couples spot them and move away as if Bain was Moses and they were the Red Sea. Or was it the Dead Sea? It was one of the two, she was sure.

The next thing she knew, Bain was clasping her right hand with his left and holding it out from them while he took her left hand and placed it on his shoulder blade before slipping his other hand to rest it beneath her left arm. It was strange because from the way Bain was moving, he seemed to know exactly what he was doing.

"Now here is the part where you give up control," he told her. "Just listen to the music and follow my lead. It's not Tia Carrere but it does have a saxophone so it'll have to do."

She blinked at him owlishly before she felt herself moving to the left. Or was it counterclockwise? Bain's brow was furrowed in concentration and he seemed to be holding himself back while he slowly led her in a circle. It was almost clumsy how she followed his "lead" so to speak and she had to look down at her feet like a n00b would and try to copy the motions Bain was doing.

"Look at me," Bain suddenly instructed, commanding her attention towards his face. "Don't look down, just at me." Was it her or did Bain actually sound…gentle? That was the best way she could describe it because he didn't sound arrogant nor did he sound smug like he would if he had won something. It was just different was all she could say.

"What are we…?" she tried to ask but was finding it hard to ask the words.

"Vienna waltz," he told her in a soft voice as he continued to lead and direct her.

"Waltz?" her voice cracked.

"Two years' worth of learning to ballroom dance," he told her. "My slut of a mother wanted me to spend more time with people my age and tried to enroll me in a dance class. I selected ballroom because I knew it would be the greatest waste of cash out side of learning the bagpipes."

"This is a surprise," she admitted.

"There is still a lot about me that you don't know," he replied without his usual bite. "Now, dear Charlotte, relax. At the moment, you can't be in any better hands."

Okay, there was the usual arrogance he had but for once she found that it didn't annoy her. This arrogance came more from confidence than it did from a sense of superiority. She found that she actually liked it when it was coming from him. The only things he usually had confidence in was his inability to have a conscious and torture others either physically or psychologically.

It was a nice change, one that she found she could enjoy.

"It's just like riding a bike, you know," Bain said after a few minutes, his voice still with that unnaturally softness in it. "I practiced a bit over the past couple of days, just for this."

"That's…very sweet of you," she admitted, blushing slightly. Where had psychotic Bain gone? It was as if she was in the arms of some stranger who looked just like him and yet at the same time she knew this was her Bain. Her Bain. That had a nice sound to it.

"Best vocal cords in the state but rendered speechless by simple footwork," Bain chuckled as he leaned his head over her shoulder, his chin almost resting on that portion of her body. She suppressed the shudder she felt when he did that but she could not admit that she was somewhat excited by that movement.

She had never felt this intimate with anybody before. At least, no one outside her family and extremely close circle of friends.

"That's better, isn't it?" Bain breathed into her ear. "Yes, relax. That's it."

She found that she was bringing Bain closer to her and despite some clumsy steps she made, somehow he accommodated her. She had a suspicion he was lying about those two years but she wasn't going to press it. For now.

She was going to try and accept the gamble she was making while putting out of mind the promise Bain made to her that when this was done, it would be her turn to have a fantasy fulfilled.

* * *

Christophe released a large puff of smoke as he leaned against the back of the gym, the night sky overhead and clear, the stars twinkling from their spots in the limitless cosmos. For one such as him, he was not impressed with it. Who could be impressed by an endless expanse of nothing that was home to the cocksucker God anyway?

No, he was more interested on what could be found on the earth in which he stood upon. Now that was where all the action was, both literally and figuratively.

"How many of those are you gonna smoke?" Rhiannon asked from beside him, peering at him cutely. "I think that was your third one."

"As much as I feel like," he answered her. "I am not really interested in ze going-ons in zere, eef you know what I mean."

"I do," Rhiannon agreed. "But I also like being in there too with everybody else having a good time."

"Nozing wrong wiz zat," he replied.

"We can't all be tough guys like you either," she pointed out.

"Zo why don't you go in zere and 'ave fun?" he asked her curiously.

"Because I like spending time with you just as much as I like having fun," she told him. "And as you know, that's a lot."

"Indeed eet ees," he said. "So what ees eet zat you find fun about me?"

"Do I need a reason?" she asked.

"Well, you do want to 'ump my leg," he said mischievously, observing the girl as her face blushed a bright red. "I do not zink anyone ees a'ound. Want to risk eet?"

"And here I thought you weren't one of those horny assholes," Rhiannon grumbled as she kept her eyes adverted from the Frenchman. "Guess like you proved me wrong, dick."

"But I love proveeng you wrong," he said innocently. "Eet ees not fun ozzerwise."

"You're so mean!" Rhiannon whined, pouting with her lip sticking out and everything.

It was too cute, really.

Now if only he could get a full-face blush, then he could call it a night.

* * *

Unlike what looked like the whole town turning up at one place, Sawyer was not going to be found on school grounds. Well, for a time he could have been but he had left early once he realized that a particular person wasn't there.

He had only figured that out only after Charlie and her psycho of a boyfriend had arrived and he had gotten distracted how they were treating the dance floor like it was some kind of formal ball. Then again, it was that time of the night where all the fast-paced music was replaced with the slow kind, the kind usually played for those lovey-dovey types that liked to stare in one another's eyes.

He'd bailed but he knew where he was going. Since he couldn't corner his quarry at school or at the dance, he was going to corner him in his own home.

And no, he was no stalker. It's amazing the things you can find in the yellow pages, like someone's phone number and address.

Christian Bates was definitely a listed number.

Of course, that didn't stop him from freezing up once he had reached the other's boy's front door. What was he doing here? Was this really something he should do? Questions like these and more forced him to remain in place, making him think about turning around and leaving, you know, go home and maybe catch something on CineMax or something.

Then the memories of trying and failing to speak with Christian came to the forefront of his mind and his resolve strengthened. He had spent too long trying to do things the right way. Maybe it was time to do things the creepy way.

So, in no short order, he rang the doorbell.

It hadn't occurred to him that there might be other people in the house or that there may have been sleeping people. At least, it didn't occur to him until he saw the front porch light flick on and the door open.

Oh crap, maybe this really was a bad idea.

He was startled out of his thoughts not because he was meeting Christian's parents but because he was meeting Christian himself and he looked _awful_. In his defense, he hadn't been able to get within twenty feet of the guy without the femme slipping away but he was sure that having a grayish tint to your skin was not healthy. That and those bags under those tired brown eyes that were looking at him in irritation.

"What do you want?" Christian demanded. "It's bad enough you're stalking me at school but now in my home? How low are you going to go, man?"

"Hey, I've been worried about you," Sawyer defended, not liking the implications of Christian's accusations. "You won't let me get close at school so I can't ask you how you're doing there."

"It's like half past nine!" Christian exclaimed. "Who goes visiting people just to ask if they are feeling fine?"

"Well, it seems like I do," Sawyer stated. Wow, he was kinda getting good at this, you know, standing up for himself. Usually he'd avoid confrontation like it was the devil but maybe it was because he was feeling frustrated that he had lasted this long. "And since this is the only one you'll even—hey! What do you think you're—!"

It was a lucky thing he had managed to slip his foot between the door and the doorframe. Maybe not the best thing he did since Christian was really trying to slam that door shut.

"Look, I'm not in a good mood, ass," Christian said, "now stop blocking my door and leave."

"Why aren't you in a good mood?" Sawyer demanded, clenching his teeth as Christian tried to slam the door shut on his foot again. "You look awful! Like you're not getting enough sleep or something. What happened to you? You haven't been acting right since I met you in the bathroom so what gives?"

"It's none of your fucking business," Christian snarled. "It's just between me and Rod."

"So he _is_ involved," Sawyer proclaimed. Christian blinked at him cluelessly before realizing what he had just said.

"Oh Goddamn it!" he swore.

"I just want to help," Sawyer stated, pressing himself further between the door and doorframe. Maybe that would alleviate some of the pain he was feeling in his foot. "If you don't want it, say it to my face loud and clearly and I'll stop. What's so hard about that?"

"I did say I didn't want it," Christian seethed.

"Oh? I don't remember you every saying that," Sawyer mock-pondered. "No, I definitely remember you never saying that unless it was incredibly vague, then by that line of reasoning it would have gone over my head."

"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" Christian sighed as it seemed the fight had gone out of him. Sawyer was still cautious though because you never could tell if one thing you said would set them off again.

It was so easy to piss people off nowadays.

"It's easy to quit," Sawyer said, "and if everyone did the easy thing, nothing would ever get done."

Christian eyed him for a moment before looking away, saying, "If you promise not to try and get into my pants…you can come inside for a few minutes."

Score! Ahem, he meant that didn't sound too bad.

"Alright, I promise not to try and get into your pants," he said.

Christian continued to stare at him, as if looking for anything that might hint that auburn-haired boy might be less than honest. Finally shrugging, he opened the door wider. "Come in then but no trying to pull any bullshit."

Finally! He was getting somewhere with this guy. He was only going to be a few minutes then he'd be gone, proving that he was sincere in his concern. Right, he could do this, he would do this.

There was possibly no way this could go wrong.

* * *

"I can't believe they kicked us out!" Devin complained as she slumped in her seat, ignoring how the town passed her by. Even though she was sitting in Rod's car with the hunk of hunks himself at the wheel, it still didn't take away the sting of being thrown out of the Homecoming dance and for what? Trying to liven up a boring ass party? Those adults were pure cockblocks, you know? She was feeling good about herself for once but that may have been because Rod was feeling her up.

And now she was horny. Perfect. At least she had someone next to her who was good-looking and oddly enough the one person that she wanted to…well, you know, do.

So maybe there was something to be happy about in all this? Maybe but she'd have to think of a way to make it look like getting thrown out of the dance was cool. Otherwise her position as the most popular girl in school would be in danger.

She couldn't have that, not at all.

"You know…maybe this wasn't such a bad thing," Rod spoke up, his eyes trained on the road ahead of them.

"Oh? Why is that?" she challenged.

"Because this leaves us with a whole lot of night to do something else," he said suggestively and was it her or was he grinning over there? "We could do anything we want. Get flat-ass drunk. Screw each other. And we can all do it at my house. My folks are hardly there as it is and I doubt they'd come home tonight of all nights."

If she didn't know any better, she'd say he was trying to invite her to his house where they'd fuck. And you know what else? She knew exactly that that was what he was hinting at, the very thing she had been chasing him for.

She was going to take it. Oh yes, find out if what she heard from the other girls was true.

Maybe…maybe if she did things right, she could do more with this, like snag Rod as a boyfriend and use him to make everyone jealous, maybe even get a shot at Stan himself if she played her cards right. Yes, Rod was a great piece of eye candy but she knew from what she had heard about him that he was not boyfriend material. Instead, she'd have him for a short time where he would be able to do the least amount of damage to her reputation.

Then she could also stick it to Wendy too. Dump Rod, take Stan, and laugh at everyone who doubted she could do it. She could see it all now.

"Hey Devin? You okay?" Rod asked her in concern and she reminded herself that now was not the time and place to get lost in thought. Now was the time for action.

"I was just thinking," she said. "I've heard that you're hung like a stallion. Is it true?"

Oh, there was that grin again but Devin suppressed her own at knowing that she was playing a player. Boys; they all thought with their dicks. They were so easy to use.

"Something tells me we're on the same channel," Rod said. "If so, then let me tell you that before this night is over, I'm going to make you scream yourself hoarse."

"Oh, cowboy?" she said mockingly. "Now this, I've got to see."

Rod pressed his foot harder on the accelerator and soon the town of South Park whizzed by.

* * *

"You're a closet romantic, I swear to God, that's what you are," Charlie grumbled as she found herself being ushered into the Cynis home. She didn't like this place not because this was where Bain lived but mainly due to the fact that it had the feel of a morgue. Sybil Cynis may try her best to make this place feel more homely but her husband and son didn't seem to care at all about her efforts. Of course, as Charlie surmised, this only drove to make Bain's mother work harder and thus this place was just too clean.

You could smell the anabolic in the air; it was just too sterile to actually be a place where a family lived.

"You can utter than until the end of time, that still won't make it true," Bain replied as he shut the door behind him and locked it. Accomplishing this, the shorter boy made his way into the living room where he plopped down in his favorite chair, heedless of the fact that he was wrinkling his outfit.

Charlie knew her mother would have had a fuss but apparently Bain's mother didn't have the same hang ups. Either that or she had given up a long time ago.

"Fine, I will," she said, taking up the perceived challenged as she settled herself carefully on the nearby couch. "You're a closet romantic, you're a closet romantic, you're a closet romantic—"

"I wasn't being literal," Bain growled. "You can stop now."

"No," she said defiantly. "I like pissing you off."

Bain snorted but said nothing to that. That was the last sound for quite a bit as Charlie refused to say anything until he said something and Bain just didn't say anything at all and just stared at her as if expecting something.

She was getting a bit disturbed by how Bain's eyes bored into her and she found she had to break the silence. Just how did he do that, make her uncomfortable with a look?

"Why'd you bring me here?" she asked, looking anywhere other than where Bain sat. "I'm surprised you didn't take me home."

"Have you forgotten already?" Bain drawled. "I do believe I have said this many a time but I suppose, given your lack of cognitive abilities, that I will repeat myself one more time. This is give and take. You granted a fantasy of mine so now it's your turn."

"A fantasy?" she repeated. Oh yeah, that's what he was talking about. He hadn't stopped yapping about it since he got that ticket for her. Still, just using the word "fantasy" didn't mean that she knew precisely what he was talking about. She wanted to be clear about what he was talking about. "What 'fantasy' are you talking about?"

"Getting laid," Bain said bluntly, much to her chagrin and growing anger.

"Oh, so you do have hormones, great," she said sarcastically while wondering where he had ever gotten this idea. She at least wanted to figure out how his thinking processes were working before she smashed his face.

"Pardon me then for believing your sister," Bain mocked, his eyes never leaving her. "I suppose her revealing to me how noisy you are when you masturbate was a yarn. So it isn't true that you don't moan my name when you pleasure yourself?"

"Which sister told you that?" she demanded, her anger suddenly shifted away from Bain and targeted on one or two possibilities. Knowing Bain like she did, she knew he'd toss his informant to her for the gutting.

"The older one," Bain shrugged. "I never learned her name. All I do know about her is the fact she has a habit of walking in on you at the most inopportune moments."

Stella, you were going down bitch.

"Bain, I'm not going to fuck you," she deadpanned.

"What? Do you believe you wouldn't be able to satisfy yourself?" Bain asked, cocking an eyebrow. "Or do you believe that you won't be able to satisfy…me?"

Well, if that wasn't a challenge if she ever heard one. "What are you trying to say?" she asked warningly, eyeing him with the hint of a lethal gaze.

Goddamn it, there was that smirk, that smug, smartass smirk of his that always seemed to say that he had won something. "That instead of rising to a challenge, you're going to surrender and run away like virg—"

She didn't let him finished as she leapt at him and smashed her lips onto his own.

That'll teach him to shut up.

* * *

Meanwhile, at the Woods residence, the front door opened more violently as Rod was practically carrying Devin, the girl wrapping her legs around his waist and holding on tightly as she made out with the blond with an animalistic furor.

"Christ," Rod moaned as he parted from her lips for just a second, somehow managing to slam the door behind them. "You're too good for this to be your first time."

No, this was not the time for talking, Devin thought to herself as she reclaimed those lips. She was hot and horny and she did not want to talk about past experiences just yet. She wanted some dirty talk and to get her cootch pounded like it was a Friday night.

"Let's do it. Right here, right now," she groaned between savage kisses. "The couch, the floor, whatever. Let's do it now."

"No," Rod moaned as he parted from her lips. "Bedroom. Only. Place. To do it. Right," he managed to say between kisses.

"Come ooooonnnnnn…" she whined as she grinded into him the best she could in her position.

"Goddamn," Rod swore as he stumbled towards the stairs, intent on doing things his way. Damn it, she couldn't wait for him to carry her up all that way…

It was almost scary how determined Rod was as he took the staircase one step at a time. How they managed to reach the second floor, Devin did not know but Rod's staggering was more controlled and fast paced.

Before she knew it, her back was slamming up against a mattress and her hands were being pinned down on either side of her head while Rod began attacking her neck, his teeth and tongue nipping at any available skin they could find. Damn this was nice, she thought to herself as she stretched her neck out and arched her back, loving the sensations that Rod was lathering on her.

Lost in the feelings he was making her feel, it took her by surprise when she noticed that Rod had somehow managed to remove her upper body clothing, his fingers currently fiddling with the hooks in her bra.

Wow, he worked fast.

"That's out of the way," Rod breathed against her skin, her bra losing its tautness and, the straps sliding off her shoulders and down her arms. "Now we can get to the fun stuff," he said as took her wrists and stretched her arms out.

"Fun stuff?" she asked teasingly. "Then what was all that before?"

There was something cold and thin that seemed to wrap around her wrists and there was a sharp click in the air.

"Foreplay," Rod chuckled darkly as he pushed himself off of her. As he stripped himself of his shirt, he reached over to a dresser and snagged his trademark hat, settling it over his combed blond locks. "Now we get to the good stuff."

* * *

How the two of them managed to leave Bain's living room and get to his bedroom, Charlie will never know. What she did know was that she was really enjoying how Bain was sucking on her tongue like it was a popsicle while she was busy grinding him into the mattress. She had always thought that if she ever got into this position, she would be the one on bottom but who knew that this homicidal maniac could be so passive?

"Be gentle," Bain gasped teasingly as he released her tongue from his swollen lips. "It's my first time."

"Smartass motherfucker," she growled as she once again attacked his mouth with hungry lips. She practically ripped open his button-up shirt, exposing his bare chest which she thought should have been more defined than it was, what with all the physical fighting he did with her.

Bain suddenly rolled her over, taking control and continuing the dry humping even though he was unbuttoning his pants with one hand. The other hand was busy groping her breast, the thumb rubbing harshly against a tit, hardening the nub. While most would assume from this action that Bain had some experience (and who the hell would have experimented with him of all people?), the reality was that it was sloppy. Bain's groping applied too much pressure and his thumb was only rubbing the right area by accident.

Charlie was not here to be uncomfortable so she soon turned the tables on the ass, rolling him back onto his back and pinning him down.

"Christ, you're such a n00b," she grumbled.

"Like you know how to do it better," Bain challenged.

Growling, Charlie snaked her hand downwards to Bain's unbuttoned pants…

* * *

"You like that?" Rod taunted as he smirked down at her. His hand held steady the phallic object that he was busy ramming into her and it wasn't pleasant.

Devin sobbed, tears leaking from her eyes even as the blond continued to erotically stimulate her, the sensations of pain and pleasure warring through body with no sure victor. Normally, Devin would have voiced her discomfort but Rod seemed to have done a one-eighty in his personality. Right when she had begun to demand what he was up to, he had gagged her with one of those cheesy, red ball gags and he hadn't done it gently.

The one weapon she could've used had been taken from her, something that was further emphasized when Rod striped her bottom portion and cuffed her ankles to the bedpost, forcing her into an exposing spread-eagle.

Oh, at first she had tried to struggle, plead with him through her eyes but the usual lazy expression that she had associated with him had vanished. His eyes were half-lidded, yes, but they held something else within them. She couldn't find the words to describe it but at the moment, she was too busy trying to endure what he was doing to her.

There was something primal about this, something beastly or whatever the word was as Rod had quickly exposed himself to her, showing off the physical power he held in his body. He had definitely sculpted his body even though she had never seen him do any sports but it was as she was laying there helpless that she realized that if he wanted to, he could probably break her in two with brute force alone.

Her head suddenly twisted to a side and her cheek stung from the quick slap. There had been so much force in that hit but why?

"Pay attention, bitch," Rod ordered, his voice no longer friendly but hard and demanding. "Look at me. That's right. Do as I fucking say and maybe I might let you enjoy this a bit." She didn't know if the other girls had gone through this but she knew that she wasn't enjoying it. They might like the authority Rod was using but Devin did not like this helplessness that was forced upon her.

She squealed as Rod shoved the dildo he was using on her deeper into her than she had ever thought possible yet his face had not changed once from the moment he had begun this torture.

"I thought I told you to pay attention," Rod stated. "For a bitch, you sure don't know how to follow instructions. So let me tell you one last time what's going to happen. I'm going to fuck you. I'm going to do it hard and I'm going to do it for a long, _long_ time. You are just going to lay there and let me do you like you are some kind of living blow-up doll. You got that or do I need to fucking rape you to get it inside your head?"

She shook her head violently, struggling to get free from the restraining cuffs.

"Oh goody, more fun for me," Rod said darkly, his eyes gleaming with unholy glee as he moved over her.

* * *

Sheets were strewn all over the floor at this point as neither Charlie nor Bain would allow the other to remain in control for very long. In fact, things had gotten a bit violent and some bruises were starting to form lightly beneath their skin from the slaps and punches each one gave to one another.

Yet neither of them were willing to stop even as they panted desperately for air.

Charlie had never felt so tired yet at the same time so alive even as she straddled one of the more dangerous people that she had ever met. She was used to exerting herself, enduring tests of stamina that would leave most people exhausted from just thinking about it. Bain, meanwhile, was in worse shape but if there was one thing she had to hand to him, it was that he was determined to keep up.

"Is…is this what you fantasize about?" Bain gasped, his chest heaving. She admired the redness on his cheeks, the results of the many blows she had landed on him. He definitely going to be bruised there, she could tell you that much. "You are one violent whore."

"That's…that not even…the half of it," she boasted between pants. "But look at you. You're all out of breath and we haven't…haven't even gotten to the fucking yet." At this, she thrusted her hips downwards, crushing her hips against the swollen member beneath her and eliciting a moan from the boy.

"Stop teasing…and we might get somewhere," Bain growled out.

"We nothing," Charlie cut in as her hand snaked downward again. "Let's finish this. Together."

And with that, Charlie willing impaled herself.

* * *

Rod had a good rhythm going here and he wasn't about to slow down for anyone, not even this toy beneath him.

He could feel the all too familiar pressure building up in his abdomen but he knew that he was nowhere close to getting to releasing it.

He was brutal, he would admit that, but he didn't care about the girl he had beneath him. He hadn't cared about all the others before her so why should he start caring now? Besides, he liked the tears that were leaking from her eyes; he even licked them up as a way of taunting her.

Yes things were simpler like this. So much simpler. He didn't have to worry about what others thought about him or maintain a mask in public so that no one would guess how truly depraved he was.

Only the girls and guys he lured into his bed would know and he knew how to make sure they would never talk. If they had to talk, well, he'd make sure that all that came from their slutty mouths were good things, things that would lure more to him so that he could satisfy this primal need of his.

Heh, primal, one of his. Favorite. Words.

* * *

An explosion was the best way Charlie could describe it. The sensations that circulated throughout her body had reached a point where they had overloaded her mind and she could take no more.

Masturbation had nothing on this shit.

Boom. And there she went, falling like a tree that had its base cut right from under it. The stench of sweat was everywhere and the heat from the two bodies in this bedroom made it all so stuffy and yet she found she couldn't care less about it. As if to defy all those things, she reached and arm out and brought Bain closer to her body, resting the boy's head on her chest.

She had really tired him out, hadn't she? In fact, he looked so peaceful now what with his eyes closed, given off the semblance of sleep. It wasn't like that time he had fallen into a coma in which he looked more dead than alive. No, he looked so full and contended and the way he snuggled closer to her just produced a warm and tingly feeling within her.

Fuck, she had really fallen hard for this maniac, hadn't she?

But you know what, she didn't give a fuck. That's right, everyone would just shove it. She had done the impossible.

She had had sex with Bain Cynis. You can relax the applause there.

You know, she had always heard about there being an afterglow and for a long time, she had thought it was grade A romantic bullshit. Now she could see that it was just grade A with a hint of romance and no bullshit. Funny, you learned something new every day.

She was looking forward for morning to arrive and what potential it held. Even as she drifted off into slumber, the glow never left.

It never…left…

* * *

Rod stretched his back and sighed as his spine popped in various spots. Oh, he felt good. Real good. He was already looking forward to the next time and the next toy.

Speaking of toys, it looked like this one had settled down. He smiled at it indulgently, taking in the quivering girl who had her eyes shut tight. She would have curled up into a ball if she could but he had yet to take off the handcuffs, leaving her bound.

Yeah, he tended to have than effect on people.

Letting his latest toy wallow in her agony for several more minutes, he finally reached over and removed the ball gag that he had forced into her mouth early, grimacing slightly at the spit that dripped from it.

Once again, yeah, that tended to happen quite a bit.

"Hey," he grunted, letting his eyes slide lazily over to Devin whose jaw was slowly closing. "You awake?"

A fearful dark brown eye cracked open and Rod couldn't deny that it piqued his interest once more. Oh, she was just begging for another round, wasn't she, giving him a look like that.

"It hurt," she whimpered out.

Rod, though, couldn't find it in himself to care. "Eh, it happens every once in a while." He shrugged his shoulders carelessly, basically telling the girl that he didn't care about how she felt. "I guess it was just your turn this time."

Oh, there was that look again, the look that basically said that Devin couldn't believe he had just said what he had said but he knew what he said since he had said it.

Girls could be so stupid.

"What, did you think that this was all about you?" he asked. "Why is it that when it comes to sex, girls expect guys to do everything to make them feel good while they sit back and do nothing? Honestly, it's not always about you."

Hmm…why did he have a bad feeling about this? The scared looked that Devin had been given him had changed into something else. It was like he had two heads or something. He didn't like it.

"You bastard!" she snarled at him. "How fucking dare you! I'm making it about myself? That's what you're doing!"

"I never said I wasn't," he replied, smooth as always. Oh yeah.

"You creep! Is this how you get girls?" Devin demanded, straining against the handcuffs but failing miserably to free herself. "This is fucking pathetic! Only someone with a tiny dick would have to pull this shit!"

Okay, that was going a bit too far but Rod was more than confident in his size, thank you very much. "I really doubt you mean that," he said dryly as he leaned down towards her. "You did have Big Rod shoved all up in you. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were trying to insult me."

"Look at the freakin' genius," Devin seethed. "If you're so fucking big, then why didn't I come, huh?"

"Who cares if you did?" Rod shot back. "Like you said, this is all about me, not you. Who gives a shit if you felt anything? I don't."

"You know what you sound like? A fucking rapist," Devin spat, her dark brown eyes alight with fury. "Everybody hates a rapist. When the others hear about this—"

"You're not going to say a word," he interrupted, his voice darkening with threat. "I'm not going to let you ruin this good thing I have going for me."

"You're a con artist, that's what you fucking are," Devin said. "You're a fake, a fraud. Oh, when I get through with you, you're going to be lucky that you don't find yourself behind bars!"

Rod raised an eyebrow then put a hand to his crotch. "It sounds like you need some more time with Big Rod," he said darkly. He was quick about it and in no time at all, the big guy was standing at attention once more. "Maybe he'll remind you just where you stand, you little cum bucket."

"What are you doing?" Devin demanded as he climbed over her again. "What are you—ahhh…" She gasped out loud as Rod cut her off with one powerful thrust, not caring if she was ready for him or not. This was no longer about pleasure…well, okay, it still was, but right now it was more to prove a point than anything.

He was in control here, in charge. Nothing this bitch could say was going to. Change. Anything!

Her mouth opened and closed, no words coming out as he slammed into her time and time again. His brow was creased and his eyes were wide open in anger, every bit of his wrath focused on breaking this latest toy of his.

"Bastard," she gasped out. "You fucking…dickless asshole."

"It's this dickless asshole who's in control here, bitch," he growled warningly. "Shut the fuck up or I'm going to have to get rough."

"Get out!" Devin screamed as she strengthened her struggles. "Get off of me! Get out of me! You…you ugly son of a bitch! You cocksucking, motherfucking, pencil dick!"

"Shut up," he snarled, quickening his pace further, ignoring how wet it was becoming down there. This was about him! Not her! Never her! Or anyone else!

"Fucking rapist!" she hissed. "I'll send you to fucking prison if it's the last thing I do! I hope you're as big here as you will be in there when you're fucking bent over and made the fucking bitch! You're going down! I swear, you baby dick, House of Mouse reject! You pathetic, premature ejaculating, little boy, your parents hate you, that's why they're never home and—"

He couldn't take it anymore. With every word she spoke and every insult she uttered, his anger grew and grew until finally, he had to shut her up. So he shut her up in the only way that made sense at the moment.

He wrapped both of his hands around her throat and squeezed as hard as he could. He hated being reminded that he was always home alone, that his parents were too busy with work to ever pay any attention to him. He hated every word she said because each one struck too close because they were so close to the truth.

And he hated the truth, especially the truth about himself.

He could hear her choking, gasping for as much air as she could but he shoved that out of his head, focusing on his thrusts, on himself, just like it was suppose to be. Only he mattered. He was the center of the universe and every one had to respect it. Every. One. Had. To.

He blinked dazedly as his orgasm smacked him upside the head and he heaved for each breath he took. Oh…that had been powerful, so very powerful. Fffuuuccckkkkk…

He stayed where he was, leaning over his latest toy, gulping his next breath down as if he couldn't get enough of it. Slowly, it dawned on him that his hands were not placed on the mattress as they usually were. They were still around Devin's throat, just where he had left them. He found that it took a bit of effort to pry his hands off.

"So…? What now?" he gasped. "What do you have to say now you fucking cunt?"

There was no reply, which he did not find odd. What did find that didn't seem right was that he didn't hear anything coming her. Not a sound or even a peep. Slowly, he began taking in Devin, staring at her and waiting for a response that did not come.

What was she doing? She was staring up at the ceiling and her face was kinda blue and…and…oh shit. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit!

Oh fuck. OH FUCK! Now it was him who was breathing hard as he stumbled off of the still girl, nearly hyperventilating at the sight before him.

His thoughts were in a loop, continuing with either shit or fuck. He couldn't say which of the two words his mind was using at the time but right now he didn't care as he had a fucking corpse on his bed!

Goddamn it. God fucking damn it!

It took him a while but finally, he was able to start getting his thoughts together. He knew he was in trouble, an understatement of the year, but he was going to have to try and fix this. First thing was first, he needed to clean her off. His sweat, his sex juices, everything that was him was all over her and in her and he had to get rid of it. No sweat, he could do it. All he needed to do was calm down and get his thought into order.

As he tried to ready himself for the grim task ahead of him, there was one thought that kept peeking its nasty head out.

_Not _another _one__._

* * *

Kyle had no idea how long he procrastinated before he came home but perhaps doing that wasn't such a good thing as it was quite cold outside and he didn't have a thick jacket on him to keep him warm.

So yeah, when he did finally come home, he was still covered in Stan's vomit and practically frozen to the bone but to make things worse, his mom was waiting up him.

That had been a "fun" experience once she had caught sight of him.

At the very least, he found that he wasn't going to be grounded, all thanks to the intervention of his father, but he still felt that he now had a second asshole courtesy of his mom's verbal lashing. The next time he saw Stan, he was going to give that asshole hell. Add Gary to that list to since he vaguely recalled that it was the Mormon who had turned Stan's head towards him at the last second.

He sighed as he sat down in front of his computer, changed and warmed up from a hot shower, his hat still resting over his curly red locks. So what was he going to do now? He didn't feel like going to bed but at the same time he had nothing to do.

He felt so pathetic right now. Practically every guy in school was getting laid while here he was with nothing and nobody.

Might as well water his crops. That might cheer him up.

As he logged on to his computer, he took a moment, as he always did, to check to see if he had any e-mails. As usual, there was the usual spam (no, he did not feel like enlarging his penis) and there was a couple e-mails from some colleges that were interested in him and inviting him to apply. Other than that, there was just one e-mail that didn't fit into those two categories and he opened it at the spur of the moment because what else did he have to do?

He blinked and sat up straight as his monitor became completely black, worrying the Jew that he had just downloaded a virus. As he reached over to the power button to try and reboot, he stopped as these red things began to, well, ooze into the blackness, slowly forming letters and then words.

He lowered his arm and watched in fascination, not reading what was turning out to be quite a good graphic until after it had finished.

_Hello Kyle,_

_Stop holding your breath and counting the days._

_You better have been a GOOD boy._

_Because I'm coming back._

Short and simple but it made Kyle curious as to who had sent it to him. Noticing that he could now back out of this screen, he did so and took a good look at the address from wince the e-mail had come from.

_hellspawn__666_.

It took him a minute to think about that name as he had not seen it for quite some time but when it hit him, his eyes practically bulged out of his head and his mouth gaped open. He could feel the familiar sensation of fear flood his person but at the same time he could feel anticipation and longing warring against it.

Damien was coming back to South Park.


	19. The Morning After Headache

Author's Note: My prediction in the last chapter was correct with the exception of reviews. Seven as of last night but still, I'll be a pessimistic asshole and say those will go down as now _Fiends_ will no longer show up on the front page of the South Park section. I invite you all to prove me wrong. Anyway, shorter than last chapter but I couldn't figure out what else to do so don't be expecting 18,000 worded chapters in the near future. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, adult situations

The Morning-After Headache

Far from any sense of civilization, a girl with pink-dyed hair crouched on the ground, rereading a passage from the large book she had hauled up into the mountains with her. This place had seemed isolated enough to her, the only path being a newly paved road but it wasn't like anybody was using it.

Ipso facto, that made what she was about to do safely secured from any intruders who might meddle.

Though, to be honest, her location was only about a mile outside of South Park.

Sunny knew, though, that since it was Homecoming that night, everyone would be distracted by it and wouldn't notice that she was missing, not that they did notice even if it wasn't Homecoming. She didn't care though because now she had an airtight plan, a spurt of inspiration that had come to her when watching a marathon's worth of horror movies.

She had tried demons and hoodoo dolls but now, she was at her wits' end. Making Rod suffer was backfiring horribly and her vendetta against the guy was starting to near obsession. When a person neared obsession, it opened many possibilities to a damaged mind that were previously unconscionable.

The possibility that had occurred to her had been nothing short of killing Rod. And she knew the perfect way to do it.

It was simple, really. Ready to hear it? Well, she was going to summon a slasher. That's right, one of the famous fictional serial killers who had racked up body counts that went up into the triple digits. Once these guys got started on a murder spree, nothing would stop them save a bout of death but these guys were practically immortal to begin with.

After thinking about it some more, she had determined that only one slasher would do for Rod. Which slasher above all had a thing against premarital sex?

Jason fucking Voorhees, that's who.

She was a fan of his work and she enjoyed some of the original ways that zombie man had dealt with his victims. She also knew she was putting her own life at risk because shit like the summoner of an unstoppable killing machine being killed tended to happen around this kind of thing. She was prepared to die though so long as she would be taking Rod down with her.

Now, summoning Jason Voorhees was not going to be easy as nothing in Henrietta's book had anything to do with bringing forth a slasher so Sunny was bringing in elements from the _Friday the 13th_ movies to try and supplement what the book was undoubtedly missing.

You could find a hell of a lot of stuff on the Internet, you know.

So here she was out in the middle of nowhere and she had only just finished with the preparations for her summoning. Nearby there was a small pond, hardly as big as Stark's but it would have to do. All around it, she had carved in satanic runes and other stuff so as to make the pond the focal point of the ritual. Nearby, she had nailed in a sign that said in crude writing "Crystal Lake."

She sat on the ground just outside of the circle of runes, a fake head right beside her that had the faintest of semblance to Jason's mother, the original killer in the original _Friday the 13th_. To be honest, it looked nothing like her but Sunny was doing this on short notice and hadn't the time to put some effort into it.

The only effort she had put into anything other than the ritual was making sure that today was indeed Friday the thirteenth. You know, to try and make things more _right_ if you knew what she meant.

As if was nearing the time to begin, her throat became dry and she began trembling at the enormity of what she was planning to do. A lot of people were going to get hurt if not killed if she went for this. Could her fragile conscience handle it?

…

Yes. Yes it could.

Standing up, she set up her fake Jason's mother's head on a rock then hurried over to a nearby tree so as not to catch the attention of her unholy summoning. It was time and Friday the thirteenth would soon be over. Who knew what would happen if midnight passed and it became Saturday the fourteenth? Probably something wimpy would come out because Saturday the fourteenth just sucked like that.

Okay, this was it. She took a deep breath, trying to settle any nerves as well as gather any strands of courage she had left. What she did here would change everything and not necessarily for the better.

There would be no satanic chant, just a bunch of the same words being repeated over again with one exception: the first word of the chant would be said only once. After that, just repetition until something happened or at least that's the conclusion her research had led her to.

"_Rise,_" she began softly, "_dumb ol' Katie Courick, dumb ol' Katie Courick, dumb ol' Katie Courick, dumb ol' Katie Courick…_"

Yeah, this was going to take a while.

After a full five minutes, though it felt more like an hour, things began to change somewhat. There was a mist on the ground and it was slowly moving towards the pond Sunny had rigged up. There seemed to be a kind of glow coming from the runes but the glow was never permanent so you could never really tell it there really was a glow. The temperature dropped, something smelled funny, and Sunny found that her throat was starting to get scratchy.

But she couldn't stop now! She had come so far! No, she'd keep going even if she lost her voice or some freak accident occurred that nearly killed her. This meant too much to her and she would be damned if she didn't see it through.

High above, lightning crackled in the sky and on the ground a harsh wind swept across the land. Sunny's instincts were telling her something was wrong, horribly wrong but instead of heeding them and turning tail, she took this as a sign that she was doing things right for a change and renewed her efforts.

By now, the runes surrounding the pond were now aglow, slowly burning themselves out as the water of the pond trembled and waves crashed against waves. Everything was pointing to the fact that something BIG was happening and Sunny couldn't help but take some pride in the fact that she was the one responsible for it. She had hardly had any kind of effect on the people around her so this time, this time she would be the cause for some wacky mishap that occurred in the town on a regular basis.

Eventually, the runes all burned up and everything suddenly became calm. There was no more lightning, the water in the pond wasn't thrashing about, but the mist that had settled in hadn't dissipated at all.

Watching it, Sunny began to wondering if this ritual had worked. Nothing had happened. Nothing was happening. Had…had this all be a waste of time? But she had been so sure.

Distracted by her own thoughts, she had almost missed something coming out of the pond. Almost being the key word. Alerted to it, she hid back behind her tree, feeling a sense of fear overwhelm her for a moment before she got control over herself.

This is what she wanted, right? Okay Sunny, you can do this. Just peek around the tree one more time and see if all of your labor had bourn any fruits.

Steeling her nerves, she looked around the tree bark and almost squealed. There he was, only waist-deep in the water but slowly making his way to land was none other than Jason Voorhees. Oh this was too good to be true! Finally, something had finally worked!

Wait, Jason was an unstoppable killing machine, right? Right. So without any direction, he could just move away from South Park. Well, she had come prepared for that. Thus the fake Jason's mother's head.

Pulling out a walkie-talkie and turning it on, hoping that its partner didn't crackle and alert Jason to the fact that there was something else going on, Sunny began to speak in the most motherly manner she could, deepening her voice so that she could at least sound like Jason's mother.

"Jason…" she spoke. "My special, special son. Come to me Jason. I'm right over here."

Jason's head had snapped up, alert and scanning his surroundings until he found the source of the voice that he had heard.

Sunny continued to cajole the killer over to the head, doing her best not to break out of character. It would be her luck to mess this up and wind up dead.

Too caught up in herself, she didn't hear Jason speak, his voice muffled by his hockey mask, as he stopped in front of the fake head. "Um, mom? You aren't being possessed by that Freddy Krueger guy again, are you?"

"Jason. You have come back to me," she crooned into the walkie-talkie.

"Well, yeah. I kinda do that mom."

"You will not believe what I have found Jason. It is horrible," she spoke, beginning the second step of her plan. "I have found a horrible little town that needs to be taught a lesson. The children of South Park have been very naughty, Jason. They drink, they curse, they even have premarital sex and use one another like toys!"

"Uh…don't all teenagers do that?" Jason asked hesitantly, his grip on his machete tightening.

"These children are even worse that those brats that enter Crystal Lake! They must be stopped before they can become corrupted any further," Sunny continued. "Among them is a boy name Rod. He is the one in charge and if he has his way, no one's virginity will be left untouched! Find him Jason! Find and make him wish he had never been born!"

"Well, if you say so mother," Jason said. "I'm only doing this because it's you."

Sunny heard the heavy footfalls and she waited a minute before peering around the tree to see where Jason was. She could see him by the road, heading in the right direction. Oh, this was so tits! Now she could just sit back and watch the fireworks as—

An eighteen wheeler barreling down the unused road slammed into the zombified killer the moment Jason had started crossing the road. There was a splatter of decaying blood where the undead killer's lower legs could now be seen, the feet flat against the concrete and blood leaking from the stubs.

As for the rest of Jason, as wind buffeted his large body harshly, he became aware that he wasn't alone in the truck's grill guard and turned his head just enough to meet one Dr. Johnny Raizen, psychiatrist and MD.

"So, I hear you have quite the relationship with your mother," Dr. Raizen said, leering gleefully at the killer. "Would you like to talk about it? There's nothing to be ashamed about having an Oedipus complex."

Staring at the remains of her latest failure, Sunny found she could only say one thing.

"Huh."

* * *

Sawyer slowly cracked his eyes opened as morning light breached through the window blinds and brightened the room he found himself waking up in. A second later, he winced as a painful throb attacked his brain.

Ugh, what had happened? It felt like someone was using a jackhammer in his head, trying to mine for ancient Aztec gold or something. As he sat up, he could feel the cool air wisp across his torso, not something new to him because he preferred going to bed shirtless.

However, as he began assessing the rest of him, he realized that something was not right. He was warm but the air in the room was cold, not something unusual but for some reason the warmth he felt didn't seem like his own.

A few minutes later, it finally hit him. This was not his room, at least, not the one Christophe was letting him use. For one, it looked like a cross between a guy's room and a girl's. Please don't ask how he knew the difference between the two, he just did. Then he noticed that he was not alone in the bed. There was the head of someone with long brown hair using a pillow right next to him but he couldn't tell if it who it was. For some reason, something was nagging at him that it wasn't a girl and he didn't see any reason why he should argue against that.

As he endured his throbbing headache, he found he was able to think more and more as he got used to it. Right now, he could put the facts together that he was in someone else's house, in someone else's bed, and sleeping with that someone else who happened to be right beside him. He snaked a hand under the covers to give his balls a good scratching, coming to a sudden stop as his fingers came into contact with skin and not flannel cloth.

Okay…why was he naked and why did it feel like he was touching something that had dried up against his skin? Did he get wet sometime last night or…

Removing his hand quickly, he raised the bedsheets up so that he could peer owlishly at what was indeed the rest of his naked body.

Okay, take one naked him, add someone else who was sleeping right to him, and add the fact that he was in someone else's house, what did that equal?

The answer that popped up first in his head made him want to shriek like a little girl. He…he didn't, right? This had to be a mistake. Yeah, there was probably some innocent explanation for this. Yep, nothing wrong here. Had to be.

"What's with the face? You look like you swallowed poison."

Sawyer will have you know he didn't scream like a little girl but he did pull the bedsheets up enough to cover his naked chest. See? Guys could have modesty if they wanted to. He looked towards his bedmate and found the person propping themselves up on an elbow, giving him a skeptical look. It took Sawyer about a few seconds worth of thinking to remember that the guy beside him was Christian. Christian the girly-guy. Right.

"Give it a rest," Christian snorted as he rolled his eyes. "You weren't that shy last night. Speaking of which, I think you made a promise last night, you know, to not get into my pants? Way to go ass."

Sawyer squeaked as he too recalled that promise, unfortunately, but what he couldn't recall was what happened that led up to him breaking that promise.

"Don't look like that, you make me think I kicked a puppy or something," Christian complained. "If anyone has a right to do it, it's me," he added under his breath, looking away with a crossed look on his face.

Sawyer only looked more lost than before.

"What…what did we do?" he asked slowly, almost scared to hear the answer.

"We got drunk," Christian shrugged.

Upon hearing that, Sawyer felt his spirits rise. They got drunk. That meant a lot of stuff could have happened and it didn't necessarily mean that they may have…you know…_done_ _it_. Sure Christian said that he broken his promise not to get into the guy's pants but when you thought about it, he could have taken Christian's pants of and put them on himself. Then he would be wearing Christian's pants. See? It made perfect sense.

"Why didn't you tell me you had a low tolerance for alcohol?" Christian complained. "You barely had half a beer and next thing I know you can barely walk straight!"

He was almost offended by that but if he could use it as an excuse, he would. However, Christian bulldozed ahead and dashed those hopes almost immediately.

"And damn it, you're such a sloppy kisser," Christian grumbled as he sat up, turning his body so that his feet were hanging out from under the covers, dangling over the side of the bed. "In fact, you were sloppy everything. I'm surprised your name's not Joe! And what was I thinking going along with it and taking you into my room! At least I don't think I'm going to have a limp this time."

What?

"Limp?" he repeated, his voice cracking.

"When I said not to get in my pants, that's what I meant," Christian said dryly. "But maybe I shouldn't be too hard on you," he mused, "you were so bad that it wasn't funny. At least you could say you got me horny; I had to roll you over and ride you to get any satisfaction."

Sawyer could feel blood gather in his nose, signaling he was going to have a nosebleed. So…they really did…and he couldn't remember…but he promised he wouldn't have…so where did he stand anyway?

He was so confused…

To add on to his mortification, Christian got out of bed, revealing his lithe body in all its nude glory. Sawyer wanted to look away, he really did, but he just…couldn't…stop…looking…

"What the heck am I going to do with you?" Christian grumbled as he slid on an oversized shirt, pulling his long hair through it so that it didn't irritate his back.

Sawyer couldn't help but say the first thing that came to mind. "I'll take full responsibility."

"I'm not a girl," Christian snarked, "but thanks anyway, I guess."

Sawyer swallowed, knowing he was going to have to tread carefully here. It was obvious, even to him, that Christian was pissed but Sawyer did feel bad. He had broken his promise…oh God, he was becoming his father! He hadn't gotten to the point he gambled away money or blamed others for his shortcomings but Christ, it was only a matter of time!

"At least I can actually walk," Christian groaned. "After Rod was through, I thought I was paralyzed from the waist down."

Even though he had been deep in his own incriminations, hearing Rod's name broke Sawyer out of it and he snapped his gaze back towards Christian. "I was right! He did have something to do with this!"

Christian blinked at him before his eyes widened in realization at what he had just said. "Shit!"

"What did he do?" the auburn-haired teen asked, his voice slightly hard to convey that he was not going to be derailed from learning what was going on.

"Why's it any of your business?" Christian demanded, glaring heatedly at him. "Why do you fucking care anyway?"

"Because I do!" Sawyer retorted, oblivious to how childish that answer was. "I've been concerned about you for practically a whole month! What happened? I just want to help!"

"You really want to know? Fine!" Christian spat. "That asshole cornered me and forced himself on me, that's what fucking happened! He told me to come to his house, gave me no choice than to do so, and when I get there he fucking chains me to his bed and has his way with me."

"You mean…he…?" Sawyer said slowly, beginning to grasp just what was going on.

"I don't like to think about it," Christian said, turning his back to Sawyer and wrapping his arms around himself in a desperate attempt to comfort himself. "Some of the things…it was just…"

Sawyer surprised himself at how calmly he was taking this. Finally, after all this time, he was seeing Christian, vulnerable and traumatized, and he had the urge to try and make the other boy feel better. He hadn't been aware that he had left the bed and come up behind the androgynous male until he had wrapped his arms around him, hugging Christian from behind.

He could feel Christian stiffen against him but he merely relaxed his embrace, giving Christian the option of tearing away if he wanted to. Things were making more sense to him. There was something wrong with Rod, something terrible, and Christian had come face-to-face with it and lived to tell the tale, whatever that story might be.

"Do you want to go to the cops?" he asked quietly.

"No," Christian shook his head. "I don't want this to control my life any more than it already has. I want to forget all about it and move on."

Sawyer couldn't find it in his heart to argue with Christian. It was obvious that the teen was only barely holding it together but Sawyer knew that it couldn't be left alone either. Rod was still out there and…God, how many other people had he done the same thing to? If all those rumors about him being a player were all true, that meant more than half the girls at school…

And why wasn't anybody else talking about it? There was something wrong going on here. He didn't need to be a rocket scientist or a first class detective to figure that one out.

"Besides," Christian sniffed, "it's been a month since _it_ happened. It's my word against his and any evidence…it's all gone by now. It's all gone."

"I believe you," he told the boy who was now trembling. "Let me help you. I won't let you face this alone…and I have friends who can help. You'll see; I'll make this all better."

"I wish I could believe you," Christian whispered, his voice almost unheard.

* * *

Cartman hadn't had a good night like _so_ many other people but that could have been his fault. Wait, his fault? It was never his fault! It was always someone else's fault, like Kyle's. He never did anything to screw himself over…well, there was that one time with measuring the all the boy's penises but that had been to prove a point damn it!

But what was pissing off the easily angered teen who had been to various sessions of anger management, most of which having no effect on him, this time?

He wasn't Homecoming King damn it!

Someone must have done something, rigged his rigged vote, who knew? It was probably Kyle, that Jewish son of a bitch. He'd get his but for now, Cartman wanted his crown. How was he going to do it? That had been the question that had been plaguing his mind since he had gotten into a bitchfest with that ho with the large knockers, Gwendolyn!

Oh sure, she was pissed because she wasn't crowned with Stan. Well whoopee-fucking-doo, he's the freakin' runner-up! That's, like, a million times worse that being crowned with a handicapped kid! The hoe didn't know what it was to suffer indignity, no way no how.

Well, fortunately for him, Cartman knew of a way to fix all this. It had taken him watching a bunch of movies where similar situations had occurred and they were all solved in the same way.

All he needed to do now was get some coconspirators to help him and if necessary take the blame if shit hit the fan.

And he knew exactly who to go to.

"Hey ho? Gwendolyn? Round up all the LESBIANs and have them meet up in the abandoned classroom at the back of the school beside the bandroom. Yes, the place we always meet up at, not the abandoned classroom on the second floor above the principal's office. Why should you listen to me? Just do it you black asshole. What, you want me to tell everybody that you weren't actually voted Homecoming Queen? …just get everybody together and I'll tell you what's going on, alright? Fine!"

Pressing the off button on the house phone, Cartman smiled to himself as the seeds of his latest plan began to take root.

"Sweet."

* * *

Stan was the one to answer the phone first at the Marsh residence but he didn't hold onto it for long.

"Hey Dad?" he called out. "It's for you!"

From the nearby couch where Randy was presently laying on, his head resting on the couch arm as he watched television with a blanket over his legs, he rasped out, "Stanley? Bring it over to me son."

Rolling his eyes, the teen handed the phone that was not one foot away from the man over to him and stalked off.

"Hello?" Randy coughed into the phone.

"_Hello, is this Randy Marsh?_" a deep baritone of a voice asked.

"This is he," Randy confirmed, coughing some more.

"_This is Dr. Hung Lo from the CDC and I've been going through your file and redoing some of your tests_," the voice said. "_I've been told that you have tested positive for super-AIDS, is that correct?_"

"Yes," Randy rasped.

"_Well, I have good news for you then,_" Dr. Lo said. "_There was a miscommunication between you and your primary care physician. You only tested false positive for super-AIDS_."

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know," Randy commented, coughing again.

"_Mr. Marsh, I'm afraid you don't quite understand,_" Dr. Lo said. However, before he continued, he started speaking in some angry Chinese, or to Randy in some freaky-deaky language that wasn't English. "_Sorry about that,_" Dr. Lo apologized. "_Just my idiot of an intern messing things up again. Now where were we? Ah yes, you tested false positive for super-AIDS. Well, Mr. Marsh, that means that the tests found something that wasn't there._"

"What do you mean?" Randy asked, confused.

"_I mean, you don't actually have super-AIDS,_" Dr. Lo stated. "_As I said, the test detected a false positive. That means that it detected something that wasn't there. It happens occasionally but usually when we find something in these tests, we sometimes to the test again to make sure that it is correct, especially when your lifestyle dictates that you shouldn't be exposed to an illness that you aren't typically in contact with. We redid the tests and the tests we did say you don't have super-AIDS. Congratulations._"

Randy's eyes were angled towards the phone's receiver but he remained silent, his mouth slightly opened as he took in the unexpected news. Finally, he was able to say, "So…does that mean that I…?"

"_You have a clean bill of health Mr. Marsh. You can go back to enjoying life now_," Dr, Lo confirmed. "_Though, there was something that we thought might be the precursor to prostate cancer, you might want to go and get that checked out,_" Dr. Lo added before hanging.

Randy continued to hold onto the phone, staring straight ahead as he sat up. He…he didn't have super-AIDS. He had a clean bill of health. Do you know what that means?

As it slowly sank it, Randy knew that there was only one thing he could do.

* * *

"Okay guys, we're clear on this," Jimbo said. "I'm going to bring Randy to the bar and when we enter, you guys are going to yell surprise."

"We got it, we got it Jimbo," Chris Stotch said. "But do we really have to do this so early in the morning? And at the bar?"

"Yeah, we usually come here after work, not before," Gerald agreed.

"First of all, we don't know when Randy will finally…" Jimbo trailed off here to try and suppressed the well of emotions he was feeling. "…so we'll want to do this as soon as we can," he managed to finish. "It's AIDS—"

"Super-AIDS," Gerald corrected.

"Right, super-AIDS, so we don't know if he's going to die tomorrow or in the next five minutes," Jimbo said. "I rather do this as soon as possible so that there won't be any regrets or people saying we should have done this sooner."

Taking in the gaudily decorated bar with its dark blue banners and various balloons tied to chairs, Christ Stotch had to agree with the hunter as Jimbo knew he would. "Well, at least we can say we pulled off the best party we could, right guys?"

There were various agreements to that statement though none saw the bartender roll his eyes at them. It was way too early in the day to be serving alcohol but these idiots just didn't know when to cut their losses and stop doing stupid things.

The only thing that benefited from this was, ironically enough, the bar where they would ultimately come to get wasted.

"Okay guys, get finished up and make sure that the confetti comes down when you do yell surprise," Jimbo said. "Ned, I'll leave that to you, right buddy?"

"Mmmm, you can count on me," Ned agreed.

"Great! I'm going to go get Randy and—" Jimbo said excitedly before he was interrupted by the door slamming open to reveal the one and only Randy Marsh.

The one and only Randy Marsh who was standing and not in a wheelchair like he was suppose to be.

"Randy?" Jimbo asked hesitantly.

"Guess what guys!" Randy exclaimed. "I don't have AIDS! The doctor cleared me! I'm not sick!"

"Uh…wasn't that super-AIDS?" Gerald hazarded.

"AIDS, super-AIDS, it's all the same," Randy dismissed.

"You mean you aren't sick?" Jimbo asked.

"Of course not!" Randy answered, only now starting to take in the bar. "What happened in here? Were you guys about to throw a party?"

"Yeah, we were," Jimbo said uncomfortably. "You were just so miserable last night so the guys and I thought that maybe we could cheer you up and all."

"Really? You guys are great!" Randy cried out, his eyes shining.

"But now that we know you aren't sick, we're just going to have to take it all down," Jimbo sighed as he turned back to the rest of the guys. "He's okay guys. Take it all down!"

"What?" Randy looked lost as the rest of his drinking buddies began to undo all the changes they had made to the bar in anticipation of his arrival. "We can still have a party!" he protested. "Come on guys!"

"We were doing this because you had AIDS, Randy," Jimbo said. "You don't have it anymore so there's no point in it."

"But…but…the doctor said I should go get my prostate checked out!" Randy said desperately. "I…I think I might be coming down with some prostate cancer. I can feel it in my body now!" Randy coughed though it was obvious he was forcing himself to.

"You aren't sick anymore, Randy, there's no point," Gerald said, patting Randy's shoulder. "Why don't you go on home and watch some TV or something?"

As Randy watched what was his surprise party being cleaned away, there was only one thing he could say to it.

"Well this sucks."

* * *

There was the slamming of a car door and the purring of an engine as the car was started. Charlie relaxed her head into the headrest as Bain backed out of his driveway. Staring straight ahead of her, Charlie saw the world differently. It was so much brighter, the sky so blue that it threatened to swallow her and the snow on the ground so white that it would have blinded had it not been for the car's darkened windows.

Bain was taking her home after their adventures in erotica the night before but he was taking his time about it. He was cruising and not heading in the direction of her house, taking the "scenic route" as it were.

Aw, he wanted to spend time with her, didn't he? He had to be a softie underneath that hard exterior of his. It was the only explanation.

She didn't mind it. In fact, she was in the frame of mind to not mind anything. So what if her boyfriend was taking her home the long way? He could do whatever the hell he wanted and she wouldn't give a crap. Maybe they should do this more often.

Anything that put him into a good mood tended to put her into a good mood. Odd how that didn't seem to work the other way around though.

It took her a bit to realized they had stopped though how long ago that was, only Bain knew, but she noticed that he was staring at her now, the car still rumbling as it idled in place.

Where were they? It looked like they were on the outskirts of town, just about to leave it. Bain had parked on the side of the road but for what reason she didn't know. And no, she didn't count staring at her as a reason.

"You seem like you're in another world," Bain commented. "Care to share?"

"Like you don't know," she retorted good-naturedly.

Bain smirked at her but turned in his seat so that he too was looking straight ahead. "I have never felt so relaxed before," the sociopath said. "Perhaps, you think, that it was our activities last night?"

"What else could it be?" she replied. "I'm not surprised that you're spooked. I bet you've never felt like this before, not counting the people you've tortured in your basement."

"Have you ever felt this way?" Bain countered, doing a bad job of trying to take the center of the conversation off him but Charlie was in the mood to allow it.

"Nope!" she answered cheekily. "For as many times as you've called me a whore, I have never done anything like that before."

"A pleasure to hear," Bain said under his breath.

"And now here's the part where you threaten that if I think of another guy, you're going to do _awful_ things to me," she teased.

"That goes without saying," Bain said.

"And I hope you know that it's a too way street," she winked at him. "I'll have you know that if I ever see you with someone else, I'll rip off your little friend down there and play a quick game of kickball with it."

"So elegant as usual," Bain quipped. "You should really write poetry with that mouth of yours."

"Too much work," she shrugged. "Babysitting you takes up too much of my time as it is."

"Yet you do that job so poorly," Bain said.

"I never said I was trying hard to do it," she returned.

"So what do you try hard at?" he asked her.

"That's for me to know," she said.

Bain raised an eyebrow at her. "No 'and for you to find out'?"

"Doesn't that go without saying?" she asked him wryly.

"Point," Bain acknowledged, looking straight ahead. "You know…" he trailed off.

"What?" she asked, giving him her full, undivided attention.

Bain, though, didn't continue. He continued to look straight ahead and the only movement he made was to take the car keys and turn the ignition off.

"Hey, don't turn off the heat," she admonished, wondering what was going on in that head of his.

Instead of responding, he unexpectedly opened the car door and took off his seatbelt, getting out of the car and walking ahead of it. Okay, now he had her attention. Sure he had it before but unlike before, she wasn't concerned. Now she was.

Getting out of the car, she called out, "Bain?" Still she did not get an answer and while she was getting worried, she only expressed irritation. "What the hell are you doing?"

A ways up the road, Bain crouched down to the ground, looking at something. Wondering what he was looking at, she slammed the car door shut and took off after the boy. As she drew closer, she saw a discoloration in the snow and for a moment, she thought it was a leg. Was Bain looking at a mannequin's leg? If so then why did someone dump it all the way out here? And why wasn't Bain standing up and walking away from it?

"What is it?" she asked as she came to his side.

It was only then, now that she had a clear view that was not blocked by Bain's body that she saw that there was more to this mannequin leg. There was a whole body in fact. And were those bruises?

Holy shit.

"Looks like someone was busy last night," Bain said calmly.

They were looking not a mannequin as she first thought it was. She was looking at a body, a dead body. She had seen them before but not like this. There was usually blood involved and the bodies had clothes on them.

This girl had nothing on and looked like she had gone through hell.

"Tell me you didn't do this," she said quietly, her good mood vanishing in an instant.

"I didn't do this," Bain said as soon as she finished.

"Oh, ha, ha, really funny," she grumbled. "Now tell me the truth Bain. Is this one of yours?"

"Once again, the answer is no," Bain said. "This isn't my _modus operandi_, Charlotte. Look at her throat, tell me what you see."

As much as she didn't want to, she did as he told her. "What are you wanting me to look for?" she asked.

"You don't see? It's obvious that she has been strangled," Bain commented clinically. "There's the bruising and if you look closely, you can see there are two darker points on the sides of her neck, where the hands would have been. She mostly likely saw her killer face to face and he roughed her up some before he got to that part."

As Charlie looked away, disturbed by a scene which shouldn't disturb her. Maybe it was the way that Bain was talking as if he was one was performing an autopsy. There was no emotion in his voice; he was merely stating facts.

"She was killed somewhere else," Bain stated. "Her clothes aren't here and her feet aren't dirty so she was dumped. Unable to see if rigor mortis has set in…hmm, she's awfully clean for a corpse…"

"Can you keep that to yourself?" Charlie snapped.

"Make yourself useful and call for the cops," Bain replied as he pulled out his cell and tossed it to her.

"Call the cops?" she repeated, staring at him as if he had two heads.

"It's what a good citizen would do, wouldn't it?" Bain replied, his eyes still trained on the body.

"They're going to think you did it," she warned. "You are a fucking killer, you know that."

"But they don't," Bain stated. "And they aren't. Besides, don't you recognize who this is? The swelling isn't helpful but I'm sure a smart girl like you can figure it out."

She looked at the body again, willing herself to get a good look at it, in particular the face. There was some swelling but it wasn't much and as she took a harder and harder look, she began to pick up little clues.

"Slow, aren't you? Allow me to grant you relief and give you the answer," Bain said dryly. "She's a classmate of ours, one Devin Brasch. Ring any bells?"

"Like I pay attention to anybody at school," Charlie grumbled. "But Jesus Christ, are you sure?"

"I would be if there was any form of identification on her," Bain replied. Eyeing her, he snapped, "Well? What are you waiting for, woman? Make the call."

Charlie, however, narrowed her eyes again. "Call me that again. I fucking dare you."

Bain growled at her, finally losing his patience. "I said, take that phone and call the police. Are you deaf or something woman—"

Charlie couldn't have been more satisfied when felt her fist connect with his eye.

* * *

This was not how Sergeant Harrison Yates wanted to spend his morning.

It was the freakin' weekend and he only had to do a half day today. Why'd these two teenagers have to discover a corpse now of all times? He was going to miss the game because of them.

"So let me get this straight," he said, summarizing what the two witnesses had told him. "You were taking a drive and just happened to find a body lying on the ground? How do I know you're telling the truth?"

The two teenagers, one a short guy with a black eye forming on his right eye and the other a girl who was taller than him and giving the sergeant a put off look, traded him look for look and nodded simultaneously.

"Where'd you get that black eye?" Yates asked, eyeing the guy.

"My eye made the acquaintance of someone's fist," the guy answered.

"I don't know about that; you look more like you fell down a flight of stairs," Yates said. "Are you clumsy? Do you trip over your feet every three seconds? What's my middle name?"

"No, no, and I don't know," the guy answered promptly. "You have our statements, officer. May we leave now?"

"Yeah, sure, get out of here," Yates said dismissively. "If I ever have to see you again, it better be because of exhibitionism."

"Right," the guy said slowly. Facing the female, he asked, "Coming Charlotte?"

"I swear, the people in this town," the girl grumbled but Yates paid no heed to her. He had more important things to worry about.

One of those important things was the corpse that had been discovered only a few hours before hand and the first cop on the scene, which caused Yates to shudder slightly, was one Officer Barbrady. He at least had to hand it to the small town cop, he knew how to corner off a crime scene, perhaps the only thing he knew how to do.

"So Murphy, what have you got?" Yates asked as he stopped beside his longtime partner.

The gray-haired man looked away from his notes towards the redheaded cop. "The victim is a Caucasian female, sixteen to nineteen years of age. There's a lot of bruising, consistent with that of an assault and if I had to guess, I would say she was probably strangled. The bruising isn't dark enough or large enough and there aren't any wounds I can see. No blood has been detected yet but we're going to need an autopsy to figure out what the cause of death is."

"Those kids told me that they recognized the girl from the high school," Yates reported. "They gave me a name, Devin Brasch I believe. We'll have to get into contact with her family, see if they've noticed she's missing and have them identify the body."

"That sounds like a plan," Murphy agreed. He looked back towards the teenaged girl, his face wrinkling slightly. "Why do you think this happened, Harrison? Who would want to kill a beautiful girl like this?"

"I don't know Murphy but we're going to find the son of a bitch who did this," Yates answered. Looking back in the direction where he had last seen those two kids, he added, "We'll want to keep an eye on those two, just in case they're the ones responsible."

"What makes you think they're involved?" Murphy wondered.

"Call it instinct, call it laziness, I just have a feeling about those two," Yates explained. "They were a bit cold when talking to me and usually someone freaks out when they find a body. Remember the Roberts case?"

"But…wasn't it the crying wife that was responsible?" Murphy asked. "She sure showed a lot of emotion."

"She was crying because she was happy, Murphy," Yates explained. "She wasn't happy when I piledrived the bitch when she tried to go after my jugular."

"Heh, that was pretty funny," Murphy chuckled. "Didn't you scream like a girl?"

"Shut up Murphy," Yates growled. "I'm going to go make some calls, alert the brass and all. Wait for the coroner to get here and don't let anybody near that body, you got it?"

"Yeah, I got it," Murphy grumbled. "Hell of a day for this to happen."

"At this rate, we're going to miss the Broncos kick some Cowboy ass," Yates agreed as he stomped off.

* * *

Author's Note: As a PDA or whatever the hell it's called, what Christian is doing is not the right way to go about things. When raped, the first thing anybody, both female _and_ male, should do is go to the police or a hospital. DO NOT take a shower or clean yourself as soon as possible. You might think that having their sex juice on you is disgusting but remember that that icky stuff has their DNA in it and if the police get their hands on it, they virtually have a slam-dunk case. Hospitals also have procedures that will aid the police in their case so while it may be uncomfortable to go through, it is only temporary. DO NOT keep it hush hush as it is likely that you are not the first person to be victimized by your assailant. If a rapist does it once, you can be sure they will do so again. Also remember that rape is NOT about sex; it's about POWER and when you keep quiet, you are giving your rapist power.

So there's my little lesson for the day. Stay tuned to see what happens with this fictional rapist. Will Rod get what's coming to him? Are things going to get worse before they get better? Will Sunny get her revenger sometime this year? Once again, stay tuned.


	20. Only Survivors Get Rewarded

Author's Note: Let's get some more comedy into here before everything goes to shit. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Only Survivors Get Rewarded

Come Monday, everyone had heard about the gruesome discovery over the weekend.

No one was more affected by it than Bebe was. All she could think about was how she had last seen her friend at the Homecoming dance before she was kicked out…that had been the last time she had seen the highlighted brunette, hadn't it? She was full of questions, the primary one being why.

Why had this happened? Why Devin? Devin had her flaws, sure, but it was the flaws that made the girl all the more human. What kind of an animal would do this? Whoever it was, they were going to pay.

Her mother had given her the option of staying home today because of how close she had been to Devin but Bebe had refused. There was no way she was going to let Devin's murderer, whoever it was, know that he had hurt her too. She refused to let that bastard know that she was suffering and she would prove just how strong she was by going to school today.

Though she didn't show it, on the inside she was thinking that maybe this wasn't the best idea she had. She had found out the hard way that Devin's murder was all people were talking about. Except for Cartman who had run past her but she hadn't been in the mood for his usual "hey ho" even though he hadn't said it yet.

The first person, or persons in this case, to talk about it with her were Bonnie and Wendy 2—(crap!) Gwendolyn but she hadn't been surprised by that. They were the girl equivalent of Stan's group but here they were missing one of them, the "Cartman" of the group. Whereas Cartman's "friends" hated his guts, they actually had liked Devin despite how shallow she could be at times.

"It feels so different," Gwendolyn said, unintentionally pointing out the fact they were missing a member.

"Yeah, who'd have thought losing a friend wouldn't have been different," Bebe said sarcastically. Sighing, she added, "Sorry."

"It's okay," Bonnie told her, "you two were the closest out of all of us." Looking down at the floor, her eyes watering, "Why did this have to happen?"

Gwendolyn, awkwardly, placed an arm around the sensitive girl's shoulder and brought her close. "It just did," Gwendolyn answered uncomfortably. "It's wrong, messed up, whatever you want to call it…it just fucking sucks."

"Amen," Bebe agreed. "Have either of you seen Rod anywhere? The last time I saw her, that was who she was with."

"You're thinking he might know something?" Gwendolyn asked. "Do you think it might've been…?"

"Rod doesn't seem the type to do that," Bebe denied. "I know he's kinda a dick but I really doubt he could kill someone. He doesn't have it in him."

"So who do you think could have?" Bonnie asked.

"There's only one person I can think of," Bebe said darkly. "The only guy in town who seems to have something against women."

"You think that asshole is responsible?" Gwendolyn asked, immediately getting what the blonde was saying.

"Think about it," Bebe argued. "Who would hate Devin enough that they would go as far as to kill her?"

"That's a lot of people," Gwendolyn pointed out quietly. "When you're the most popular girl in school, you usually have a bunch of enemies."

"Let me put it this way," Bebe amended, "who around here do you know has the guts to kill someone they hated?"

"My answer's still the same," Gwendolyn said. "This is South Park; we got crazy people out the wazoo and Cartman. Remember what he did to his own father because he hated the guy's son?"

"I've never been able to eat chili since," Bonnie added as she shivered.

Bebe opened her mouth before shutting it again. All right, Gwendolyn had a point. Cartman was more than capable of doing such a thing but there was a slight difference between him and a maniac. Cartman only killed when he was really, really pissed off or someone was standing in his way of something that he wanted. But that was beside the point and not the person she was alluding to.

"I was talking about…you know. _Him_," she said, lowering her voice intentionally as she placed an emphasis on her last word.

"Is that what we're calling him now?" Bonnie wondered out loud.

"Well, I could see him doing it," Gwendolyn admitted after she thought about it.

"Him doing what?" a new voice asked. Bebe looked away from Gwendolyn to see her best friend, Wendy, approaching them. "Are you talking about what happened to…?"

"We are," Gwendolyn said snippily. "How are things with Stan by the way?" There was a slight sting in her words when she said Stan's name but whether Wendy heard it and was ignoring it, Bebe couldn't tell from her best friend's answer.

"Something's up with him," Wendy huffed. "Ever since Homecoming, he's been off, like something's on his mind. I think it has something to do with Kyra. He did throw up on her."

"I remember that," Gwendolyn smirked slightly before remembering that this was her rival for Stan's affections and she couldn't have it look like she was agreeing with her. Nope, she couldn't have that.

"Threw up?" Bebe asked. "But…doesn't Stan only throw up on people he likes? As in _like_ likes?" She kept her attention on Wendy, not noticing the look of surprise Gwendolyn gave her. Bonnie only blinked cluelessly, not understanding the significance of it.

"Yeah, that's right and he did do that, I saw it," Wendy confirmed. "It's got me worried, especially since he seems to be able to stand next to me and not feel nauseous. It's getting to the point that he can start kissing me now without choking. Wait, weren't we talking about what happened to Devin?"

"We were," Bebe said, blinking as she realized that they had gotten off track. "Yeah and I was about to say who I thought did it."

"Well, who is it?" Wendy asked, leaning in closer as girls tend to do when listening to juicy gossip.

"Who's the one guy in all of South Park who hates girls and kills whoever he doesn't like?" Bebe asked rhetorically, her eyes darting from each of the three girls listening to her intently. "There's only one person. It has to be Bain Cynis."

"But I heard that he was the one to find her," Wendy said, confused.

"That's just what he wants you to think," Bebe said confidently. "He was probably dumping her and someone caught him the act. But remember, he's a smart son of a bitch so he convinced the other guy that he had just 'found' Devin."

"Wow," the other three girls said softly, eyes wide with innocence as they let Bebe weave her tale.

Wendy, though, was the first to break out of that spell as she asked, "But why would he kill Devin? What was his motive? I don't remember him ever breathing the same air as her."

"Don't you know? Serial killers always kill perfect strangers," Bebe stated. "It's how they get to kill again and again and again!"

"How do you know this?" Gwendolyn asked.

"I saw it on TV," Bebe answered.

"Was it MTV?" Wendy asked dryly.

"First of all, Wends, I haven't watched that crappy channel since…that time that we promised not to talk about," Bebe defended, ignoring the clueless looks Gwendolyn and Bonnie were giving her. "Second, I do watch other channels, like Bravo."

"The same channel with those crappy Real Housewives shows?" Wendy asked.

"The same!" Bebe confirmed proudly. "Um, how do you know that?"

"Lucky guess!" Wendy said quickly, looking to a side as if she was ashamed of something.

Tired of the conversation, though she was making a note to check in more on it later, Gwendolyn straightened her back and took Bonnie aside, all the while say, "As much as I'd like to stay here, Bonnie and I have to go do some LESBIAN things to do so we'll see you guys around."

Bebe and Wendy, though, didn't seem to acknowledge it, but Gwendolyn only rolled her eyes and led Bonnie away.

Nearby, both Craig and Clyde had been walking by just as the dark-haired girl had spoken. Watching the two girls leaving, Craig said, "That sounds so cool. I don't know what she's talking about but it has to be awesome."

"I didn't know Wendy 2 and Bonnie were lesbians," Clyde added. "I'd kill to see what they're going to do."

"Yeah, seeing what lesbians do when no one's looking would make me soooo happy," Craig sighed dreamily.

* * *

"It's about time you black assholes got here!" Cartman snapped as the two missing members of LESBIAN finally entered the abandoned classroom at the back of the school next to the band room. "Gawd! What was taking you two so long? Were you lesing out or something?"

"Cartman, we were just making sure one of our friends was okay," Gwendolyn retorted to the only male member of their group. "We're not gay."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Cartman huffed.

"Can we get on with this?" Brittany grumbled, slightly peeved that she had to get up earlier than usual in order to be here. The girl usually didn't show up until a few minutes before the bell for first rang; whether she was running late or timed it just right, only that girl knew.

"Fine," Cartman said, rolling his eyes at the attitude. "Now girls…and Wendy 2," he added, smirking at Gwendolyn's pissed off glare, "I've called you all here in response to a horrible injustice."

The members of LESBIAN all looked at one another, wondering what Cartman was talking about. Their whispers became a din that the husky teen had to quiet down by banging abandoned judge gavel of Judge G. Douché.

"Shut the hell up!" Cartman yelled. Calming down, he fixed his shirt before continuing, "Now, we all remember what happened at Homecoming, correct?"

There were various nods of the heads but no one seemed to figure out where he was going with this.

"Is this what this is all about?" Gwendolyn scoffed. "Why'd you want to talk about what happened to Devin?"

"Huh?" Cartman grunted.

"You can't be serious, you haven't heard?" Brittany asked skeptically. "A classmate of ours was found murdered over the weekend."

"That's the first I've heard about it," Cartman shrugged. "And no, I didn't bring you here to talk about that. No, what I'm talking about is, like, a thousand times more important!"

The various girls looked at one another, wondering just what this was all about.

"If you recall correctly," Cartman began to lecture, "at the Homecoming game, the Homecoming King was crowned." At this he pulled down the abandoned overhead screen where there was a large poster-sized picture of Timmy, the handicapped teen looking off to a side with his mouth wide open as it usually was when he was happy. "Now, you see, when I was…taking care of a few things that would give Wendy 2 over there a shot at getting back with her man, something…happened that made _me_ the runner-up to Homecoming King. I don't know what happened but whatever it was, it was wrong!"

At this point, the rest of LESBIAN was getting restless, each girl looking at one another, silently asking if they should just leave.

"Now, I've read up on the literature and watch the usual documentaries," Cartman continued, drawing to the climax of his speech. "There is only one way to rectify this. We are going to have to kill Timmy."

Yeah, yeah, whatever, it was clear that the guy was overreacting and—wait, what?

As Gwendolyn, along with the rest of the group gaped at Cartman in horror, Cartman continued as if what he had just said was perfectly reasonable and mundane. "I know what you guys are thinking: but how are we going to get past all the king's security to—"

"We are _not_ going to kill Timmy!" Gwendolyn objected, finally finding her long lost voice.

"What? But why nnnoooootttt?" Cartman whined.

"One of our friends was just murdered and here you are suggesting we kill another one?" Gwendolyn asked aghast. "Are you out of your fucking mind?"

"If I was out of my mind, you would all know," Cartman replied. "Happily, I am in my own mind so shut your hippie mouth and listen! I'm only going to go over this once so you better all listen up and memorize your parts—"

"Sorry, Cartty, but no thank you," Brittany said as she stood up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. "I didn't get a part in this to kill somebody. If you really want to do something useful, help me out with getting Kenny."

"Will you people stop interrupting me?" Cartman demanded. "Ay! Where do you think you're going? Get your asses back here!"

"Cartman, we're a group that's about getting our men to realize just how much they need us," Gwendolyn explained to him slowly like the child she assumed he was. "We're not going to kill anybody just because they have something you want. _Ciao_!"

"Fine ! I can do it by myself!" Cartman shouted after them.

This was going to be a bit harder but you know what, he had worked magic with less. It'd be harder, that's all.

* * *

Another day, another assembly, but Kyle was sure he knew what this one would be about. It was almost given away how on the morning announcements that all seniors needed to report to the gym. Since it was only seniors, Kyle reasoned, it meant it had something to do with the fact that one of their own was dead, the same person that everyone was talking about since this morning.

It was sad that this thing had to happen but Kyle was not looking forward to this mainly because when something bad such as someone dying was involved, you could be sure that everything else that followed would be bad. He didn't like to dwell on things like that; he'd had his fill of that stuff a long time ago. So when he had arrived to school earlier and had heard the topic that practically everyone was talking about, he had done everything in his power to think of something else while at the same time avoiding the dreaded question of "what do you think happened?"

There was no use speculating over something you had no idea about.

So, the first thing that had come to mind when he had tried to distract himself was, surprise surprise, Damien. He got that e-mail late Friday night but had yet to see a trace of the demonspawn anywhere. He had thought that the other would at least be showing up today but nothing.

Of course, Damien's little e-mail was vague; it just said he was coming back, not when or how. Regardless of that, he would've expected Damien to have at least contacted him, somehow, since that message had been sent to him.

As he decided to get his head out of the clouds for the moment, he could see that, while not filled to the capacity, mostly everyone was here. He only said mostly because he could still see some stragglers trailing in.

Sitting to his right was Kenny, the blond's hood removed and his face scrunched in a pout for some reason. Kyle had seen that pout before and knew it could mean only one of two things. Either Kenny had lost the lottery again or he didn't get laid over the weekend. Seeing as how the redhead hadn't been paying much attention to what was going on during Homecoming, he didn't know what for sure Kenny had been planning for an escapade. Since he wasn't in the mood to venture a guess, he decided to leave Kenny alone for the meantime until, inevitably, Kenny would tell him about what was on his mind.

On his left sat Stan, a much better option that Cartman, who had not shown up yet, but his best friend, like Kenny, looked like he had a lot on his mind. Unlike Kenny, Stan usually had something that was more philosophical on his mind when he thought about something. That in turn made Kyle less apprehensive to ask about it. So he did.

In answer, Stan didn't even budge as he continued to stare in front of him like some kind of zombie.

Wow, Kyle frowned, there must be something big on his friend's mind.

A bit of teasing ought to lure Stan out of this stupor.

"Whatever it is that you're thinking about, don't think about it too hard," he commented. "Your brain might not be able to handle the stress."

Nothing. Now if that didn't raise alarms, Kyle didn't know what did. Stan was always quick to defend his cognitive skills.

He nudged Stan in the ribs with an elbow, hoping that some physical stimulus might have a better effect. Stan blinked and he looked over to the redhead questioningly though Kyle could see that his eyes were slightly glazed over. He was here but he wasn't completely here.

"Penny for your thoughts?" he asked idly.

Blinking again, Stan shook his head and looked away. "Not really."

Okay, you couldn't just do that to Kyle Broflovski and expect to not get wheedled.

"C'mon, what's on your mind?" Kyle coaxed.

"It's nothing," Stan protested without his usual energy.

"You can tell me anything, you know," Kyle said.

"I don't think you'd understand but…" Stan trailed off, still in that daze of his. Apparently, it looked like he was going to give in and tell the Jew what he was thinking about, exactly what Kyle wanted. "Have you ever felt so much in love with a person one day, that you'd do anything to be with them but then suddenly, without explanation, you begin to doubt it?"

Well… Uh… Hmm… Eh…

Maybe Stan had been right when he had said he didn't think the Jew would understand.

"I haven't had the chance to be in such a position," he said finally before adding bitterly, "it's not like people are lined up around the block for a slice of kosher meat."

Stan, though, continued as if he hadn't heard him. "I've felt like I've loved Wendy since forever. Even with all the breakups and lists and Orlando Bloom, I've always known that Wendy and I were meant to be. But lately something's different. I don't know why."

"Is it because you keep throwing up on that one chick?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah," Stan sighed. "I don't feel like Wendy's the center of the universe anymore Kyle. It scares me. What's happening?"

"Well, it sounds like to me," Kyle began before a loud, shrill noise interrupted him.

The microphone screeched as Principal Victoria held it in front of her, the air moving around it causing the noise that was catching a lot of people's attention. "Students? Students, if I could have your attention please," the strict yet maternal woman spoke. She waited as the noise died down, something that occurred naturally and out of respect for the woman, a kind of respect that Mr. Mackey didn't have.

That, and the fact that Principal Victoria had a low tolerance for disrespect and idiocy, the two things that all teenagers were good at doing. You'd be surprise what kind of "creative" punishments she could come up with.

"Now students, I know you are all going through a tough time," Principal Victoria began. "It was as shocking to me as it was to you to learn that one of our fellow students and classmates was found deceased. However, I want you all to know that the Park County Police Department is fully dedicated to solving this crime and they told me to tell you that if there is anybody here that may know anything about what happened to Devin Brasch, please contact the Park County Police or come to either myself, Mr. Mackey, or any of your teachers if you need someone to mediate. Anything you know, no matter how small it is, could be the very clue the police need to catch the person responsible for this horrendous act.

"In the meantime, we at the school are aware of the undue stress this incident has placed on you and as a result, we have asked your parents for permission to take you all on a class trip tomorrow, provided that you bring back a signed permission form. Because of the short notice of this trip, the only place we can go that will allow you all in is the Denver Zoo."

That certainly perked Kyle's attention. One of their classmates dies and they, the survivors, get to go to the zoo for the day. That…that didn't sound too bad. Perhaps he could use this to get some much needed relaxation. Of course, that all depended on whether or not his mother would allow it. She was so strict about his studies. Hmm, maybe he should get his more absentminded father to give permission.

"As students of South Park High School, we will expect you all to be on your best behavior and if there is any report of any of you causing trouble, we will cancel the Senior Prom in the spring, do I make myself clear?" Principal Victoria added.

Personally, Kyle didn't care about Prom, he was already planning on being conspicuously absent. Still, he had to hand it to Principal Victoria, she knew how to scare a bunch of rowdy high school teenagers into submission. There were gasps from aghast teenage girls who felt as if it had just been revealed that Edward Cullens was gay and had a secret relationship with Jacob Black. Truly the homeless apocalypse had arrived. There were also groans from the teenage guys who dreaded having to be stuck with a bunch of suicidal, Prom-less girls who would not be putting out as a result and would prefer watching _Twilight_ movies.

Where was the dark lord Cthulhu when you needed him?

Fucking H. G. Lovecraft with his Necronomicon and its false promises.

"I understand that this is a hard time for you," Principal Victoria continued, "but that does not give you permission to make asses of yourselves. As you leave the gym, you will be handed your permission slip and we will expect you to have it with you, signed, when you get on the bus tomorrow."

Even though it was the second time she mentioned this, it was only now that Kyle picked up on it. They were going tomorrow? Not a lot of notice there. His father better be home tonight. He better be…

"Because you are getting this day off, do not think that you will be excused to mess around today; you will be expected to do your work. In fact, myself and Mr. Mackey will be patrolling today and if we see you horsing around, your permission to go on this trip will be revoked. So remember, be on your best behavior today and tomorrow."

At this point he began to tune her out. Instead, he wondered about how she would be able to do what she said she was going to do. He could feel it in his bones that the rest of the class was rolling their eyes at the principal's threat, still use to the more permissive policies of Principal Estrada, who was in fact still dead.

He didn't care either way; the only reasons he did go to anything, like the Homecoming dance, was because his friends begged him or his mom had made the decision for him. Mellowed out, his ass.

Beside him, Stan muttered, "There is no way this will turn out well."

Kyle found himself wholeheartedly agreeing.

* * *

Tuesday came quickly and, oddly enough, without incident. It was probably because the seniors were too lazy to actually do anything that would put this trip into jeopardy or at least make them miss out on it. Something that Kyle hadn't heard during yesterday's assembly had been when Principal Victoria had said that anyone not going on this field trip would have to stay in school and be loaded with so much homework as punishment for causing trouble the day before.

The decision of being good so as to get a "day off" and not have to do the threatened amount of school work had been an easy one.

As it turned out, Principal Victoria had been counting on some of them acting up and was thus one bus short despite the fact that this trip had literally been scheduled at the last minute.

Checking over his clipboard with the list of students he would be responsible for, Mr. Mackey uttered a soft "m'kay" before looking away from it to eye his group. Easily a teacher's worst nightmare, having to supervise a group of bored students who looked like they would go into their "rebel teen" phase at any given moment was not his idea of fun. He could recognize a few faces in that group, the most prominent being Eric Cartman, and he knew that this was going to be a long trip. Of all the groups, it had to be him who got the one filled with troublemakers.

It was also the same group that had yet to be boarded onto a bus, the other three in use filled to the brim and staffed with other teachers. Peeking from one of the buses, Mr. Garrison's bald head gleamed in the early morning sunlight though when the man spoke, there was nothing gleaming about his words.

"What the hell is taking so long?" Garrison demanded. "Why the hell aren't we leaving yet?"

Sighing, Mackey gave a last, despairing look at his group before walking over to Garrison to explain what was going on. "M'kay, it seems like the last bus is late but I'm sure he'll be here in a few minutes. Just have a little patience; it won't be long before we're off."

"Why the hell can't we just go and you can catch up?" Garrison retorted, obviously not pleased with the answer.

"Well, that's because our late bus driver is the only one we have who knows the way to the Denver Zoo, m'kay," Mackey explained. "The others haven't been out of South Park, much less been to Denver."

"Freakin' figures," Garrison grumbled. "You see, that's what you get from not taking my suggestion to get rid of all the Mexicans seriously. Now we're stuck here with a bunch of spoiled brats who don't know the right way to unzip their pants."

Not wanting to argue with Garrison on that issue any further, Mackey sighed again and merely said, "Just wait a little longer. We'll be on our way in no time."

Turning away from the bald teacher, Mackey returned to his assigned group, thankful that the group had not torn everything apart when his back was turned. This day was already turning out to be a long one and it was still only eight o'clock, m'kay. He could only hope that this would remain the only hiccup for today.

He knew better; he'd seen this very class of students grow up. There was no way this day wouldn't have some crazy mishap.

"Ugh, what the hell is taking so long?" Eric Cartman's unmistakable voice rang out.

"Just a little technical difficulties, Eric," he answered tiredly.

"I think a missing bus is more than a technical difficulty," another student said out loud, a student who Mackey vaguely recognized as being Brandon Smith. He didn't have much to do with that one though from the way he looked, Mackey ought to have dealt with him in the past. He just couldn't remember when…

"I think this reflects a total disregard of professionalism," Wendy Testaburger declared. "Mr. Mackey, when we get back from the trip, perhaps you should look into this man's background and see if there have been other tardies like this one."

"I'll make a note of your recommendation, Wendy," he replied. "Now could you all just stay quiet and try not to get into any trouble for a bit, m'kay?"

"You know, this is bullshit," Eric stated. "What have I been saying all this time? The school is a den of snakes and is out to make our lives miserable. Must I ask it again? What happened to our schooool…?"

"Eric, I would really appreciate it if you stepped off your metaphorical soap box please," Mackey said. "We are not out to make your lives miserable. We're just here to teach and prepare you for the real world as much as we can in the short amount of time that we have, m'kay."

"There! See?" Eric Cartman exclaimed. "He's trying to cover up the truth with more and more lies but we all know better, don't we? We know what's really going on here and we should do something about it before it's too—"

"Will somebody shut him up?" an annoyed student asked. Mackey didn't quite catch who it was that said that and wasn't able to place the voice as it was too contorted with anger.

Mackey really did not want to deal with this, especially first thing in the morning. It was only a matter of time until the students got too rowdy that they would be unable to be controlled. Where the hell was that bus driver—oh wait, was that the bus?

Like a hero in one of those action/adventure movies, the long yellow vehicle pulled up into the school parking lot, swerving from side to side a bit but Mackey was more than willing to let that go. The light from the morning sun made it hard to make out who the driver was and Mackey found himself giving up on making an identification in favor of agreeing with the disgruntled students that it was about damn time, not that he would admit that out loud.

The bus came to a stop dangerously close to the back of another, making the school counselor wince. Was this guy drunk? Hopefully not; the school did not need another DWI added to its name.

The general consensus of the students was "finally!" and their excitement was obvious as they rushed towards the recently arrived bus as a group, coming to a stop as the doors opened, revealing the driver within.

Just as they had been advancing on the bus as one, the group of students came to a sudden halt.

"What the hell are you dumbasses doin' thar, standin' 'round like mo-rons who haven't seen a bus before," the disgruntled form of the South Park Independent School Districts most infamous bus driver sneered. "Well? Get yo' asses on mah bus before I have ta get outta mah seat and shove mah foot up yer asses!"

The group of students stood there for a moment, all of them horrified at just who was going to be driving them to Denver. Many wondered if they had updated their wills recently while others considered staying at school.

"Did I stutter?" the bus driver demanded, his oversized gut pressing against the steering wheel dangerously. "Am I not speakin' English? I said get. Yer. Little. Asses. On. The. Bus. Do I have to get out mah whoppin' stick?"

That spurred some action from the students as they found themselves tripping over one another to get on but at the same time purposely tripping themselves in an endeavor to stay off that bus as long as possible. Ultimately, one student shoved his way through and climbed up the bus steps, his booted feet stomping on each step before coming to a stop in front of the bus driver.

Mackey groaned to himself in dismay as he recognized the student.

Bain Cynis and the bus driver locked eyes with one another and for a moment, there was nothing but quiet as two titans of pure evil battled it out between themselves. You could feel the tension, that pure evil tension, in the air, electrifying everything as these two individuals battled it out without saying a single word and only using their unblinking gazes.

Mackey knew in his heart that there was no way this could end well.

Abruptly, Bain lowered his head, lowering his gaze and moving down the bus aisle. The bus driver merely sneered at the defeated boy.

"Yea', that's what I thought," the bus driver taunted, his beady eyes following after the black-clad teen. Then he snapped his attention back towards the rest of the students. "What did I just tell you? Get yer fucking asses on tha bus!"

Having seen one of their more…morally questionable classmates skulk away in defeat, the other teens weren't about to test their luck with this unstable man's temper. Unlike before, they meekly entered the bus one at a time as if afraid that the wrong step would set this fat man off again. The bus driver eyed each and every one of them as they moved past him towards the seats, a look of disgust on his face that continued to increase in intensity with each student that passed him.

Mackey was the last to climb aboard but he was not eager to speak with this cruel man who now held the fate of every person in this oversized, yellow-colored coffin. Still, he had to do what he had to do.

"M'kay, I think that's the last of them," Mackey stated. "Are you sure you know the way to the Denver Zoo?"

The bus driver looked incredulously at the counselor. "Do I…? What tha hell kind of question is that?" the disgruntled man demanded. "I know every road in this state like it was the back of my dick now sit your scrawny ass down before I have to get up and kick yer…uh…yer ass!"

One look at the man's gut and Mackey highly doubted the driver had even seen his penis in a few years.

There was no way this could turn out well.

* * *

Charlie had thought she had seen some bad driving in her time. Nothing could compare to the horror she was facing at the moment.

Why, oh why, hadn't she gotten onto one of the other buses? Why did she have to feel the need to want to keep an eye on Bain despite the fact he had told her he would be on his best behavior? And why was it that the asshole driving this thing have to be riding the bumper of an eighteen-wheeler? Was he trying to tempt death?

Even though she had managed to get a seat in the back of the bus (and yes, it was the coveted backseat), she found that such a consolation was meaningless as the bus driving drove wildly on the highway.

In that crazy asshole's wake were at least three wrecks when he had run other motorists off the road and a pileup. The only things that had yet to be trashed were the other buses that were following them.

It didn't help that the other bus drivers were mimicking this bus driver's awful driving.

Beside her sat Bain who had remained calm this entire time and unlike the rest of their class had yet to utter a peep whether it was a curse or a blood-curdling shriek. He only stared straight ahead of himself, making the girl think that something was on his mind.

In order to distract herself from possibly dying, she tried to strike up a conversation with him. "What's up with this guy?"

In response, she saw the last thing she thought she would ever see. Bain shuddered. Not a shudder like you were cold kind of shudder. No, it was the kind of shudder that expressed fear. She had faced him countless times, seen him take on her best friend Christophe, aided her against her will when she put an end to her brother's control over her life and not once had she ever seen him shudder. …well, there was each and every time she brought out an apple but he had a phobia of those so they didn't really count. But anyway, the fact was Bain had shuddered and it was at the thought of another person.

And the person in which Bain was expressing this fear was to the tub of lard up front who made Cartman look like a supermodel. Fantastic.

"There's something about him," Bain mumbled under his breath, Charlie barely catching what he was saying. "He's evil. Pure, undiluted evil. Every cell, every pore, every fiber of that…that _man's_ being is evil."

This coming from the guy whose car radiated evil? This was juicy.

"I can't believe that out of all the guys in South Park, this is the one that scares you," she said, rolling her eyes. "He looks like an over-inflated tire and just as raggedy as one. He's so fucking fat that he probably has a gravitational orbit of his own."

"Who's talkin' 'bout me behind mah back?" the bus driver demanded as he spun in his seat, glaring at all of them without braking or even slowing the bus down. "Which one of you pansy asses is talkin' 'bout me? Speak up you lil' cocksuckers!"

"Sir! Watch the road, m'kay!" Mackey practically shrieked.

"What? You think you can do mah job better 'an me?" the bus driver snapped. "You think your better 'an me? Is that it?"

"Um, no sir," Mackey said quietly, shrinking down in his seat.

"That's what I thought," the bus driver said, eyes narrowed at Mackey before he returned them to the road. Miraculously, they hadn't hit anything or run off the road, though plenty of other cars had.

This…this was scary. Charlie would admit that there was a great chance they weren't going to make it to Boulder, much less Denver at this rate. She so hated not having any control of this situation.

It took her a moment to realize that her personal space was a bit more crowded that it was before. Aw, would you look at that? Bain was pressing himself up against her though he was trying his best to not make it look like that was what he was doing. He was purposely looking away from her but his leg was pressed up against hers. They hadn't been that physically close a minute ago.

Looks like Bain was also disturbed by this driver's driving.

"Scared?" she asked him quietly.

"No comment," Bain said brusquely, purposely looking out the window but then changing his mind to instead stare straight up ahead.

"I wouldn't blame you," she said. "At this rate, we're going to get killed."

"Like I would allow my legacy to end this way," Bain grumbled.

"What legacy?" she asked, stifling a laugh. "All you have to your name is—"

"Not another word," Bain growled out, his eyes darting from side to said, searching for anyone who might be listening to them. "Please, try not to advertise my nightly activities. It would only fan the flames of a certain rumor…"

"Rumor? Oh you mean the one that…?" Charlie asked.

"That I killed the bitch we found the other day? Yes, that's the one," Bain confirmed. "Honestly," he rolled his eyes, "it's one thing to be accused of taking out Estrada but the Brasch whore? That is insulting."

"And here you are, pissed that everyone is calling you a killer," she commented. "Even though that's what you are."

Bain shot her a look that obviously said "shut up" but other than that, picked up where she left off. "I'll admit, I didn't like her but it takes more than dislike for me to go after someone. You know that personally, don't you?"

"And your point?" Charlie asked dryly.

"Aren't you curious as to who is responsible?" Bain answered with a question.

"Anyone would be," Charlie shrugged. "Maybe I should be asking if you have any ideas of who may have done it."

"I have a few ideas," Bain grudgingly admitted, "but I need to follow up on them. First and foremost, I need to get my hands on the autopsy report once it's finished. Do you think you can get that 'mercenary' friend of yours to get it for me?"

"I thought you didn't believe that he was a merc," she teased.

"I don't," Bain replied. "At that age, highly unlikely. That still doesn't subtract from the fact that he has a talent of getting some things that are hard to come by."

"Whatever, I'll see what I can do," she sighed. "But just between us, who do you think did it?"

"Who was the last person she was seen alive with?" Bain countered. "All my…sources point in the direction of one of our newer students."

"Newer? Do you mean that douche?" Charlie asked. "No way. He doesn't look the type."

"Appearances are deceiving," Bain stated. "Tell me, dear Charlotte, when you first laid eyes on me, did you believe that I could kill someone? That I was capable of taking that step and crossing the line the very minute that we faced one another?"

"Kinda," she shrugged. "You did take out a knife on me."

"You're missing the point," Bain chastised, speaking to her as if he was some kind of teacher and she was a student who didn't get what he was teaching. "After I pulled out the knife, you knew that I was the type of person who hurt others. Before I pulled out my knife you thought the same, especially when you continued to goad me. Now, think about it real hard. From the very second you first saw me at that bus stop, the instant in which we first connected eyes, did you believe that I was capable of killing someone?"

She hated when he got that lecturing tone of his. Whenever he did, he always made her feel stupid and she did not like that feeling. Nevertheless, she obeyed his instructions and thought about it.

What did she think about him when she first met him? Well, she thought he was a punk, a hater who needed to get his ass kicked. She thought that he'd be a pushover, honestly, but was a bit surprised when he pulled out his switchblade. That surprise, though, turned into contempt and she still took him down…even though he left her with a nasty cut that to this day she could still see. A physical reminder of the first time they met and another decoration on her skin.

But did she think that he was capable of killing someone, of ending a life, that very day? Despite the fact he had tried to hurt her the rest of the day, she knew she could not only take the abuse and dish it back at him but that he was inept and even if he scared the rest of the school, there was no way that he could…

"No," she sighed, "no I didn't."

"So what's so hard about believing that Mr. Woods is also capable of it?" Bain asked immediately. "Is it because he's handsome? That he can talk to and with anybody? That he's more interested in satisfying his hormonal drives than forming lasting relationships? Ted Bundy was a handsome son of a bitch, a psychology major, enrolled in law school, and a budding Republican, but none of that stopped him from bludgeoning, raping, and killing over thirty young women from sea to shining sea now did it?"

"What do you want me to say? That you're right? Again?" Charlie complained.

"No, I want you to open your mind to the fact that any_body_ is capable of any_thing_ at any_time_, no matter how depraved the act is," Bain stated. "If you were to tell Germans in 1932 that they were going to be involved in one of the most infamous genocides in history, they would scoff at you and thing you were crazy. Come 1945, that certainly changed, didn't it?"

"Stop rubbing it in," she grumbled, crossing her arms. "So you think Rod did it?"

"He had opportunity, certainly, but without evidence, it means nothing," Bain answered. "That's why I need to find out what's going on in the investigation. As a civilian, I am not privy to that information."

"You know, you're going to have to do something embarrassing for Christophe," Charlie told him. "He's not going to do anything for free, especially for you."

Before Bain could reply to that, the bus driver suddenly yelled, "Oh shit! That's the turnoff!" There was the screeching of tires as the bus driver braked the bus, momentum propelling the students forward until they slammed into the seats in front of them.

From his seat up front, the bus driver grumbled as he grabbed the stick shift.

"Gotta put it in reverse. Those sons of bitches purposely changed the Goddamn exit."

There was the sound of the bus exhaling air and the student's terror increased as the familiar beeping sound of a large vehicle backing up began to whine.

"Dumbass drivers don't know how to drive," the bus driver said as he gave it the gas.

* * *

How they reached Denver in one piece, no one could explain but one thing Mackey found himself wanting to do was to jump out of the bus with the students and kiss the sweet, sweet concrete the made up the zoo's parking lot.

"Y'all are a bunch of pussies," the bus driver sneered in disgust. "You wouldn't know good drivin' if it bit you in the face."

"Sure, whatever you say," Mackey said in faux-agreement. "Just try to park in the general area, m'kay?"

"You tryin' ta tell me how ta do mah job?" the bus driver demanded. "You think yer better than me? Is that it?"

"No, no, I was just saying that you would be so generous to park your bus nearby so that you wouldn't have to walk too far when we left," Mackey said with a placating tone of voice.

"Ey, that's not a bad idea," the bus driver said to himself before suddenly snapping, "Walk too far? Are you treatin' me like I'm some kind of moron, ass? You son of a bitch, yer sayin' I'm out of shape, ain't you?"

"No, no, I'm not saying that at all!" Mackey protested.

"You think you know mah job better than I do?" the bus driver continued. "You have no clue how hard this job is! You don't even know! Unreasonably hours! Bratty kids! Too many expectations! You have no idea how hard this job is! You don't even know!"

"Um? Is there a problem?" a zoo employee asked as he arrived by the buses. "It sounds like you're having an argument and—"

"Oh, would you look at that? He must think he's a freakin' comedian!" the bus driver barked. "Look at me, I'm important!" the bus driver said in a condescending, high-pitched, mocking voice. "Good for you! Now get yer hands off mah bus!"

The zoo employee frowned as he gave the bus driver a look. "Say, haven't we met before?"

"I think I would remember seeing a dumbass face like yours!" the bus driver retorted.

The zoo employee blinked his eyes before looking away, saying, "Why do I keep thinking about the TSA and airport security whenever I look at you?"

The bus driver narrowed his eyes. "How did you know that's where I used ta work?"

"M'kay, hurry along students," Mackey said quickly, urging those who hadn't gotten off yet to get the heck off the bus. It was obvious that this driver was unstable. "We got a lot planned for today and not a lot of time to do it in so hurry up!"

As the last of the students trickled off, the last, much to Mackey's dismay, was Bain Cynis who stopped and looked at the bus driver in the eyes one more time. Once again, the driver traded him look for look, neither of the two giving up on their epic fight to the death.

"What are you lookin' at?" the bus driver sneered.

"Oh, just wondering how such a corrupt form of life could exist," the teen said noncommittally. "How much sewage do you spew annually?"

"What tha fuck are you talkin' 'bout?" the bus driver demanded. "You sound like my fuckin' pansy ass doctor. Are you a doctor?"

"What's it to you?" Bain shot back.

With a large, meaty hand sinking out of sight, the bus driver said, "I hear doctors are allergic to these things." With that he brought out a shiny red apple and took a bite out of it, taking his eyes off Bain so that he could focus on more important things, like chewing.

Looking back at where the teen once stood, the bus driver saw that said teen was gone.

"Gotta try that out with my doc," the fat man grinned. "Fuckin' pussies."

Not wanting to get further involved, Mr. Mackey decided to follow his student's example and disappear. Since he didn't know any magic, he did the next best thing.

He walked away.

* * *

The whole senior class stood in front of the entrance to the zoo, impatient to get in so that they could promptly vanish from their chaperones for the day. It wasn't that they were excited to see all the animals in their exhibits, because only little kids would be excited and they were all grown up, but damn it, they wanted to have some fun. Or as much fun as a teenager could have at a freakin' zoo.

"M'kay, students?" Mr. Mackey called out to them, raising his voice as loud as he could. "Can everybody hear me? M'kay, I want you to listen up and pay attention to this young man here while he explains to you the rules of the zoo. Listen carefully or you might end up breaking a rule and getting your whole class into trouble and that would be bad, m'kay."

As Mr. Mackey stood aside to let the zoo employee have the stage, the students groaned inaudibly to themselves as they had to suffer a few minutes more. They were all eighteen, sort of. They were responsible, kind of. They could handle themselves, not really. From the tallest to the smallest, the fattest and the thinnest, the most manish and the least feminine, to the most Jewish to the most Anti-Semitic, they were born ready and by God they were not going to take it for much longer!

"M'kay, you all got that?" Mackey asked sooner than many of them had anticipated. "Just stick together and behave yourselves, alright kids?"

"Yes Mr. Mackey," the students intoned.

And thus, their adventures into the animal kingdom began.


	21. Zoocapades

Author's Note: Sorry for the wait but this chapter just did not want to get written. It was like I had to drag it out a paragraph at a time yet before I knew it, it was over 10,000 words. So perhaps the length should make up for how long you had to wait for it. Anyway, I took care to include every OC, outside of poor Devin, who was submitted to this fic in this chapter. From speaking roles to a short cameo, they are there. A couple I forgot to include so I had to stick them in at random parts but they are there. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, death

Zoo-capades

As soon as the senior class had passed beyond the gates of the Denver Zoo, they had all split up into countless smaller groups, each one heading in a random direction with the intention of getting as far away from their chaperones as possible.

In one certain group, Wendy found herself with two of her close friends, neither of them Bebe. No, it was the two that she usually hung out with when her best friend was nowhere to be found.

To her right, the ever charming Mari was strolling beside her, her eyes half-lidded as if she was bored. To her left, Roxi twirled a strand of her hair around her fingers, a fading pink highlight swirling into the curl, while she chewed loudly on a wad of bubblegum.

It sometimes made Wendy wonder how she got along with two "rebels" as it were. Both dressed in darks and red, Roxi more pink than red, and both hated the "holier-than-thou" attitudes you would usually see with the more popular people. They both tried to stand out but in the end only ended up looking more like one another. And the fact that they both liked her even though for a time she was the unofficial leader of all the girls in South Park Elementary made her wonder what they saw in her. Yes, Wendy had been popular at one point but had let it go in favor of ensuring that she got into a good school when she graduated.

She was aiming for something Ivy League.

So there she was with the two girls who were trying to look as nonchalant as they could, one altering by trying to seem friendly at the same time, but only made the silence that existed between the three of them slightly awkward. Only slightly though; they were still friends so that made it somewhat comfortable.

But now, what could three teenage girls, like themselves, do at a zoo of all places and have fun? Zoo, teenager, and fun did not go in the same sentence with one another unless there was a not somewhere in it.

"How are things with Stan?" Roxi finally spoke up as they passed by the wolf exhibit, no one noticing how Mari shied away from the beasts. "I kinda noticed that there's something not right going on. What's up?"

Wendy blinked, getting her bearings back, staring at Roxi for a moment as the other girl's words were slowly comprehended. What about Stan now? There wasn't something right about it? Oh right, Roxi must have been picking up on something. She forgot all about woman's intuition again. Goes to show what you forget when you hang out with boys more than you do girls.

"Uh, did you hear me?" Roxi asked.

"Sorry," Wendy apologized. "Just thinking. I…I guess you could say there's something wrong."

"Oh? Something up with the golden couple?" Roxi asked, eyes sparkling slightly in eagerness.

"Heaven forbid that even the golden couple has no problems," Mari snorted.

"You're being sarcastic again, aren't you?" Roxi asked, looking at the other girl.

"Whatever gave you that idea?" Mari replied with a question, sarcasm just dripping from her words.

"Girls, do we really need to do this now? Here?" Wendy interrupted before sighing. "Look, there's just a little bump, that's all."

"What's the bump?" Mari asked.

"I…I think Stan might like someone else," Wendy answered hesitant to even reveal that much.

The mere suggestion had the two other girls' attention instantly and Wendy shrunk in on herself at the power of those curious eyes that were demanded an explanation. When she didn't give one right away, one of those pairs of eyes tried to prod her.

"Well? What makes you think that?" Roxi pressed.

Another sigh. This was going to be a long day, wasn't it? "He threw up on another girl, girls," she answered, her shoulders slumping.

Both Mari and Roxi blinked at her. Mari, though, understood the underlying meaning of what Wendy had said; she was just somewhat surprised with the response. Roxi, though, didn't. She had moved into town sometime after they had all turned ten and others eleven so she missed the history of Stan's oral and acidic fixation of responding to crushes. Now that Wendy thought about it, only the girls in their original class really understood the significance of Stan vomiting; other girls who moved in during the following years had missed it all.

That or they hadn't thought much of it in the first place and had ignored it.

"Wait, is this some kind of Lady Gaga thing I haven't heard about?" Roxi demanded. "Who the hell wants to be covered in someone else's vomit?"

"Someone who would want Stan Marsh to be interested in them," Mari answered in Wendy's stead. "Stan only throws up on people he likes, as in _like_ likes. You want to keep him as a boyfriend, you got to get him to barf on you."

"That has to be some of the weirdest shit I ever heard of happening," Roxi deadpanned.

"Actually, that's normal compared to Franken-Farrah Fawcett," Wendy corrected. A second later, she berated herself for mentioning that episode again, especially since she was so involved with that one…

"Geez, this town is so fuckin' weird," Roxi grumbled as she crossed her arms.

"It's South Park," Mari replied, slightly in defense. "It's life. You get used to it or run away half-insane."

"When was the last time that last one happened?" Wendy asked.

"Charlie Sheen before he got canned," Mari answered matter-of-factly.

"Really? I can't believe I missed that!" Roxi exclaimed. "What happened? Who was involved?"

As Mari resigned herself to explaining what had happened in what the town called the "Charlie Sheen Incident," Wendy contented herself in the fact that no one was questioning her about Stan anymore. By now, the trio had come to a stop in front of the bear cage where thirty feet below them, a large grizzly bear paced from one end of its exhibit to the other, restless.

Nearby, a girl Wendy knew only as Greer peered down at the shaggy animal and sniffed at it before turning on her heel and moving on. A depressing-looking girl, Wendy thought to herself. Oh well, whether Greer or whatever her name was was in a mood or not wasn't her problem.

"Aw, and I missed all that?" Roxi pouted to Mari. "Man, I had to visit my grandmother back in Phili. How come you guys always get to have the fun stuff?"

"It's not all fun," Mari shrugged. "Wendy's thing with Stan is more entertaining anyway."

"Oh yeah," Roxi agreed before turning a sly smirk towards the more intellectual of the three. "Didn't you just say Stan might be interested in someone else? Who? Well, doesn't really matter who it is, right? You gotta reel your man in before he gets away."

Oh great, they were back in this territory. Perfect.

"I know that," Wendy scowled. "How would you 'reel' him back if it was you?"

"We're girls, we have men wrapped around our fingers," Roxi shrugged. "Show a little cooch and they're running over themselves to try and get a piece of us."

"Of course you'd mention sex," Mari rolled her eyes. "Who are you to talk? You only have eyes for 'Mysterion'."

"Hey, he fucking saved my life," Roxi defended. "You'd be grateful too if he came in the nick of time just as a bunch of rapists looking to get it on with you."

"What were you doing out so late that got you into that mess anyway?" Mari asked. "If you're not partying or drunk at one in the morning, then you're asking for someone to come up from behind and take you against your will."

"Hey! You weren't there! Don't you judge me!" Roxi snapped back, glaring at the other girl.

"Girls! Girls! Tone it down a bit!" Wendy cautioned, looking around at a few zoo-goers who were looking at them oddly. "We're in public; this is not the place to be talking about this."

"I've got your number! I know where you live!" Roxi exclaimed, apparently not hearing Wendy.

"Whatever," Mari retorted.

"C'mon guys! We're suppose to behave!" Wendy protested. "Do you want to get in trouble and not have a prom?"

While it was obvious that Mari didn't really care about it, Roxi piped up real quickly as she too remembered the principal's threat. "Sorry," she said quietly, looking away in shame.

Wendy only sighed, rubbing a hand on her forehead. She had a good feeling that this was going to be the only easy incident to defuse. There were so many others wandering around and many of them had a habit of attracting trouble no matter what for it took. This was almost like that annoying pioneer park all those years ago.

* * *

"Okay, you guys?" I need your help," Cartman stated to his usual group.

Stan, Kyle, and Kenny all shot a look at one another, each dreading the words that their tubby…acquaintance was about to utter.

Stan took it upon himself to voice the unspoken feelings the three of them had. "What is it this time?"

Cartman took a deep breath, his eyes closed as he straightened his thoughts. "I need you to help me in something incredibly important."

Kyle raised an eyebrow in skepticism. "What precisely is important?"

"Killing Timmy," Cartman answered, his eyes opening and looking at the three of them seriously.

It took a few moments as those two words slowly sank into the three boy's heads and when they did—

"What? We're not killing Timmy!" Stan yelped.

"Yeah, Timmy's cool!" Kyle defended, looking at Cartman appalled.

"You guys, you don't understand," Cartman said hastily. "Timmy is Homecoming King, right? I want to be Homecoming King. I deserve it. And Lion King logic dictates that the only way I can become king is to kill Timmy."

The three boys stared as the other as if he had just spoken gibberish.

"You still watch that?" Kyle asked slowly.

"No!" Cartman rushed to say though it was obvious he was lying. Searching for something that would distract from his shame, he picked back up on his original purpose in approaching these douchebags. "Don't you want to hear my awesome plan?"

"Do we have a choice?" Kyle deadpanned.

Ignoring the Jewrat because since when did their opinions matter, Cartman continued, "What is the one adversary that no handicapped kid can defeat?"

"Threesomes where the girls sixty-nine and you do one in the ass?" Kenny suggested.

Now it was Kenny who received the looks but as usual, he was shameless.

"No Kenny," Cartman spoke slowly as if he was speaking to a first grader. "I mean stairs."

"Stairs?" Stan asked skeptically.

"Stairs are the bane of any handicapped kid's existence," Cartman described, his eyes lighting up malevolently. The three boys weren't really disturbed by the sight; they were quite used to it actually. "It's like their kryptonite; they fall to pieces at the sight of them! My plan is to sneak up behind our king while he's in the middle of being depressed and push him down a flight. He'll be dead before he reaches the bottom and since it'll look like an accident, I will be crowned king!"

Neither of the three said anything. What could they say when they were so appalled that just the effort of saying a word was too much? Cartman had done some pretty evil stuff before but this…this had to take the cake.

"H-hey fellas!" Butters called to them even though he was only a few feet away from them physically. "Timmy's having a little trouble getting down the stairs. Could one of you go and help him?"

Cartman's eyes lit up at the opportunity that had just been presented to him. Oh fate, you were a lady tonight!

"Don't worry about it Butters, I'll help him," Cartman effortlessly volunteered. "I'll make sure the king is taken care of," he added as he headed towards the easily recognizable wheelchair and the big head that was peeking out from atop it.

"Goddamn it Butters," Stan groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"What?" the innocent blond teenager asked, looking at the boys curiously.

Kyle sighed, knowing it was up to him to explain things. "Cartman's trying to kill Timmy out of some misguided belief that he'll become the Homecoming king. You just gave him the opportunity he needed."

"I did?" Butter asked, shocked. "B-but aren't you guys going to do anything to stop him?"

Actually…that was a good question. Why weren't they doing anything? The three of them traded looks to one another before breaking out of their stupor to go after Cartman and try to save the life of one of their better friends.

Meanwhile, Timmy was unaware of the danger that was stalking towards him. No, he was more concerned with the flight of stairs that stood before him and the animals that lay beyond. Accused stairs! If only he could speak his mind, why, he'd show them all that his vocabulary talents extended far beyond just saying his own name!

In frustration, he yelled out, "Timmy!" stressing on the "my" part. Then something caught his eye and he saw the solution to this quandary.

Cartman came up behind him, his pleasantly plump body braced to push his royal rival to his death. This was it; time to claim what was his by birthright, circle of life be damned! He threw his hands out in front of him, throwing his body forward to add more force to the push. However, he hadn't counted on Timmy, at the last second, maneuvering his motorized wheelchair away from the stairs and towards a nearby inclined slope that would take him below safely.

That left Cartman with nothing in front of him and a lot of momentum pushing him forward. And, of course, the stairs were right in front of him with no Timmy blocking them from sight.

Before Cartman could let out a curse, he fell, tumbling down the flight of stairs, hitting each step on his way down. It was painful, it was excruciating, it was an agony that he had never felt before…

It was only ten steps.

As he gasped for air after coming to his violent but sudden stopped, Timmy zoomed on by, not noticing Cartman huffing and puffing in his wake.

At the top of the stairs, Stan, Kyle, and Kenny stared dispassionately at their fallen friend.

"Who wants to go see the lions?" Kyle asked, looking at the other two.

"Sure," Stan agreed.

"Cool," Kenny added as they left Cartman where he had fallen.

* * *

"So when are you going to make a move?" Gary asked idly, his eyes focused on a toucan that was dozing off on its perch.

Kyra blinked her eyes, not really getting what the Mormon was saying. After a little thought, she figured it out. "What…what makes you think I want to?" she asked somewhat defensively.

"Well, you know you have a chance now. A better one than most girls have," Gary pointed out. "Aren't you going to make the effort to try?"

"But he has Wendy," Kyra protested. "They look so happy too. I…I don't want to mess that up. It would feel wrong."

"But what do you have to lose?" Gary inquired, looking down to face her.

"My dignity for one," Kyra huffed, looking away from the taller blond.

"Now you're just making up excuses," Gary chided with a chuckle. "What's wrong? Aren't you happy? I mean, sure, hearing that a guy you like has to throw up on you first to show that he's attracted to you is daunting but come on. At least you know he feels _something_ for you. Even if he hasn't done anything else about it. Maybe he's waiting for you to make the next move?"

"Waiting for me?" Kyra asked, distracting herself by observing a cuckoo in the hopes that Gary would drop the line of conversation. "I thought it was the guy's job to make the first move."

She didn't know where those words came from but once they left her mouth, she saw the genius that laid within them. According to all American cinema, it was the guys that had to buck it up and ask a girl out on the first date. That was just how it was done. She wondered how Gary would get around this one, praying that it was the question that would freeze him in his verbal tracks.

To her dismay, Gary didn't even miss a beat.

"That's just a myth," he teased her. "I mean, sure, it's usually the guys who make the first move, ask the girl out and whatnot but don't you know how nerve-wracking it is for a guy to get the balls to ask a girl out on a date? It's not like we just walk up to a girl out of the blue and ask them."

"What about Kenny?" she asked, the memory of the blond in the orange parka popping up in her mind. It was the way that Gary said it that made her think of Kenny for some reason.

"Oh, him? Uh…" Gary was taking his time thinking about that one. "Well, okay, some guys actually do do that. But for the most part, we guys are waiting for the girls to come to us. We don't want to put ourselves out there, you know, and risk making ourselves look stupid. It's just, we get impatient waiting around."

"And that's why you guys always ask first?" Kyra asked, enthralled with the explanation.

"Well, yeah, pretty much," Gary shrugged. "Who wants to wait forever? If everybody did, nothing would get done. That's why I think you should make a move on Stan."

"Huh? Wait, what? But why?" Kyra protested. "Didn't you just say that he'd get impatient and make the first move himself?"

"Normally, that would happen but Stan's case is different," Gary corrected. "He's with Wendy now. He has no reason to act first. Plus, he's a guy that doesn't like to make things more complicated and if that's not it then it's making the effort to go that next step. You see, I tried to be his friend once but it didn't work out. He couldn't make the extra step to look past my religion and there was no way I was going to force myself to be around someone who would always stop themselves short because of just one thing. If he couldn't accept all of me then, then as a friend he would never accept me.

"But being passive all the time, waiting for the things you want to come to you, that's not the best way to go about life. If you wait for Stan to break up with Wendy, odds are he'll find someone else soon after who's not you and try to make a life with them. You have the chance to finally get what you want most Kyra and if you just sit here and wait for something to happen, your chance is going to go out the window and never return."

Kyra swallowed, her throat burning slightly at the words that Gary was giving to her. Some of the things he had just mentioned hit too close to home for her. It had been a fear of hers; she would finally have the chance to get Stan to look and actually see her and then lose it before she could really enjoy in it.

She had had a nightmare once about it, actually. You see, there was—

"Uh, Kyra? Are you still there?" Gary interrupted her train of thought. "Is anything I'm saying making any sense to you?"

Oops, she kinda zoned out there. What had he been talking about again? Hadn't it been about guys being scared to ask girls out but being too impatient to wait for the girls to come to them? She thought there was something about passivity in there somewhere but she couldn't be too sure.

Gary sighed as he scratched the back of his head. Kyra noticed that he looked tired, perhaps for the first time since she became friends with him. It was like he was an old man trying to make everybody happy but never quite succeeding. For some reason, that look just didn't look right on the blond's face. Gary was suppose to be sunlight with rainbow skies and gumdrop smiles.

"It's all up to you now," Gary finally said. "I can't help you get what you want when you yourself won't make that last step. I can only go so far with you; the rest is all up to you."

For some reason, Kyra felt like she was witnessing something profound, something that held so much meaning and yet she could only understand a quarter of it. What was it that she didn't understand?

Not for the first time, she felt lost even as she was surrounded by so many people, all of whom were running from to and fro, not even paying her the slightest bit of their minds.

* * *

"Cartman, stop following us!" Stan ordered as the group entered into the primate area of the zoo. While the three of them wanted to enjoy their time here, they were simultaneously trying to get away from the one person who was messing it up.

"No guys, I'm positive this one is going to work for sure!" Cartman exclaimed. He was still a bit scuffed up from his fall down those stairs but he was still able to walk much to the other boys' woe. Looking around, he exclaimed, "This is perfect! We're near the gorilla cage!"

"Why is being close to the gorillas perfect?" Kyle asked tiredly, internally reprimanding himself for encouraging the larger boy. He must be out of it, he swore.

"Silly Jew, don't you know?" Cartman taunted. "Gorillas may be peaceful, oversized chimps but they can be violent as hell. All you have to do is look a male gorilla in the eyes and he'll go crazy and rip you apart. It's like you're challenging his authoritah and he needs to prove to you that he's the man of the house that his bitch ought to be in the kitchen where she fucking belongs!"

"Odd how that seems so familiar," Kyle muttered under his breath, getting a chuckle out of Kenny.

"What's so funny, Kenny?" Cartman asked, his voice cajoling. "Don't believe me?"

Kenny froze slightly, suddenly getting a sense of dread as well as that feeling he had that told him something lethal was about to happen. He didn't get that feeling often but when he did, he was usually alert to his surroundings.

Maybe he shouldn't stick around here for too long…

"Let's get out of here," he suggests to the other two. "This sounds so lame that by sticking around, we'll be lame by association."

"That sounds like a good idea," Stan agreed.

"Ey! Where do you assholes think you're going?" Cartman demanded.

"As far away from you as we possibly can," Stan told him bluntly. "Go kill Timmy on your own; we want no part of it."

Nearby, Brianna Vargas gave the four an odd look and slowly walked away, whistling as if to say she hadn't heard anything.

Soon, Cartman found himself all alone as the other three made their escape. As it always was, anger replaced the lost feeling the husky teen felt and he shouted after the three turncoats, "Fine! I will! When I'm king, I'll make you all suck on mah balls or something! You'll regret this!"

Damn, he felt lonely.

Glancing towards the gorilla exhibit, Cartman spotted a silverback gorilla in plain sight, just minding its own business. It would be simple to get Timmy over there…

Nah, that was a stupid plan. He knew he could come up with something better. He'd prove it to those assholes and they'd be sorry, especially Stan and Kyle. He really hated those guys.

Behind him, Timmy passed by, moving at an accelerated rate and saying his trademark, "Timmy!" He sure was having a good time here.

* * *

Now this was passing annoying and entering into aggravating. Bain had always known that she had a deathwish but really, hadn't Charlotte grown out of that phase yet?

She was probably in some kind of mood, Bain couldn't tell, he had never been good at reading other's emotions. Body language, absolutely, emotions, always eluded him. Hmm…maybe it was because he didn't have any?

Scratch that last part, he noted. He had a few, most which were anger-related. Funny how he hadn't used to get angry so often until _after_ Charlotte moved into town?

"Geez, that's twice now," Charlotte continued to comment to him teasingly, reminding him of his failures to triumph over than goddamned bus driver. "One time I could let go but that's the second time in the same day. You're losing your touch Bain and don't say I'm making you soft. We both know that you always were a softy under that antisocial skin of yours."

…he was going to have to beat it into her head that he wasn't a "softy" as she called him, didn't he? Now that was a statement that was easier said than done. In physical conflict, Charlotte won about ninety to ninety-five percent of them. That was why he stuck to his stronger forte of psychological warfare. She was physically strong but her mind was her weakness.

Still, he was more pissed off at that obese specimen of a _homo sapien_ that was the bus driver. Two bouts and that sick son of a bitch had been the triumphant one. And Charlotte was only directing his ire towards her than from where it originated.

He needed to cut something, preferably someone. The sight of spilling blood ought to assuage him until he could get off of this Godforsaken trip.

"You've been off your game," Charlotte said, hiding her concern for him. Because it was hidden and he wasn't paying attention, he missed it entirely and only heard the teasing part. Apparently, even she noticed that he hadn't picked up on it and decided to forget subtlety. "Alright, what's up with you?" she ordered more than demanded.

He eyed her before promptly looking away to focus on the beasts around him. Funny how all of them weren't in cages as they walked around with their hot dogs and sodas and pointed obnoxiously to the animals that were imprisoned in manmade apparatuses. Mindless cattle, all of them.

"Is it because we—" Charlotte began to speculate when he didn't answer her. However, he just happened to know where she was going and knew that he had to cut her off. No sense letting any of these idiotic, evolved baboons know about his private matters.

"No, that couldn't be further from the truth," he said snippily. "Now be quiet. I'm hunting."

"Here?" Charlotte asked incredulously. "Publicly? You've got some balls, you insane bastard."

"Ha. Ha," he laughed dryly. "Wrong again."

"Again with the riddles, huh," she grumbled. "Can't you ever be straightforward for once?"

"It's not my fault you're blind as a bat and as smart as one," he retorted. "My prey has been within eyesight the entire time."

She glared at him, raising an eyebrow at his last statement. "First of all, fuck you. Second, you're telling me you're stalking someone? Here? It's not Rhiannon, is it?"

Bain paused as the reminded of his spectrum-shaded adversary came to mind. "I wasn't…now. Hmm, what are the odds that I could get her alone? There are a bunch of "man-eating" carnivores around here. It could look like an accident."

"Another time, cowboy," Charlotte grunted. Bain was pleased with himself at the fact that the girl who he was exclusive with was beating herself up for reminding him of one of his longer-held grudges. "Just spare me the suspense and tell me who pissed you off in the last hour."

"Didn't Daddy ever teach you how to pay attention to your surroundings?" he questioned back slyly. "He's only thirty feet ahead of us."

He found himself in a headlock as reward for his effort but he could tell that she wasn't too offended by his mentioning of her deceased father. Maybe. Well, her lock wasn't as tight as it usually was and he found he had quite a bit of breathing room so that had to count for something. That or she was slightly distracted by looking for a male that was thirty feet away from them.

Her headlock slackened as she finally spotted who they were tailing this entire time. "What the hell? You were talking about that asshole?"

"Glad to see you've caught up," he taunted. "And please, don't assume that I'm shadowing Mr. Woods out of concern for those whores' welfare. That would not only be insulting me but insulting your father as well."

A second later he was making his acquaintance to the brink and mortar that made up a small restroom. Hmm, a lot of pores in that brickwork.

"I thought it was mutual that we were never to bring him up," Charlotte growled into his ear. Oh, the vibrations were going into his ear…and heading southward. "Tear me apart all you want, never bring up my family."

"And if I don't?" he challenged, a cheek scraping against the rough brick.

"You should know by now," she said darkly, the fun of this back-and-forth vanishing immediately. Ooh, looks like he crossed the line again.

"Very well," he agreed. Searching through the corner of his eye, he saw that his large, blond prey was prowling away. Better settle this quickly or he'd lose sight of him and then waste precious time trying to find him again. "I'll give you a break on that front but perhaps you could release me now? That asshole as you affectionately called him is getting away."

Charlotte increased the pressure she had, forcing his body into the brick for a second before letting him go. Taking the time to straighten out his trenchcoat, he moved around the girl and continued after Mr. Woods.

Good, he hadn't gotten far.

"What is it you're looking for?" Charlotte asked as she returned to his side. "Are you studying him, trying to figure out his weakness?"

"No, I'm trying to figure out how to get my hands on his wallet," he answered her without a qualm.

She froze in her step but he didn't pay her much heed. Once she got her wits back, she'd be beside him again.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," she said emotionlessly. "What happened? You're going down from serial killer to petty thief?"

"What does it matter?" he shot back. "Unless Daddy taught you how to pickpocket, which I doubt he did, shut your trap so I can concentrate."

When she was silent for longer than was necessary, Bain paused and eyed his significant other. Many would replace that with his better half but those many were also the people he dreamt about gutting when he was too bored to do anything else. Still, this silence wasn't like her unless he had inadvertently come upon something that she had hoped to keep a secret.

When she hadn't removed that look of shock she had fast enough, he knew then that he _had_ inadvertently come upon something. Interesting.

"Why dear Charlotte," he cooed. "Daddy taught you everything, didn't he?"

"Fuck. Off." Ooh, she certainly didn't want to get into this train of conversation.

Too bad.

"So when were you going to inform me of this little detail, hmm?" he asked casually. He'd be playing with Winslow right now but he had a feeling that a large knife in the middle of the zoo would be panic-worthy for all the beasts in here. The animals would be fine since they had their cages and enclosures.

"It was never any of your business and still is!" she exclaimed, shoving past him.

"What do you want?" he asked, deciding to skip through the pleasantries. "If it's food…sigh…I'll pay for your lunch. Every cent of it."

When she stopped and looked at him curiously, he felt his hope that she wouldn't take him up on that offer dry up. If she accepted…this place would empty his wallet faster than a concession stand at a baseball stadium.

He died a little inside when she said, "You'd better."

Fuck.

Before he could say anything else, she was marching off to Rod's side. Conspicuously, he kept himself slightly out of sight, not wanting any of that pretty boy's harem to spot him. He looked away for a moment, glaring at the small monkey that had climbed its way towards him and was hanging onto the chainlink fence beside him.

Sneering at the animal, he said, "Fuck off."

When Charlotte returned, Rod Woods' wallet in hand, she noticed Bain was wiping a brown stain off his face.

"Do I even want to know?" she asked wryly

"No. No you do not," Bain muttered.

"Fine," she rolled her eyes. "This is what you wanted, right?" she asked as she tossed the leather billfold to him.

Snatching it out of the air, Bain opened it quickly and skimmed through it, ignoring the dollar bills cradled within it. Sure he could probably filch a couple for Charlotte's lunch but he held more respect for Rod. Not really, though; he just made it a policy not to rob males blind but females were free game.

"Anything?" Charlotte asked, bored.

"Maybe," he answered softly. Pulling out a credit card, he raised an eyebrow at it and mumbled, "Hello…"

"What?" Charlotte asked.

"What's a high school teenager doing with his own credit cards?" Bain wondered out loud, spying something on the card that made him smirk. "Especially when neither of the cards has his name on them."

"What?" Charlotte asked, confused.

"Look," Bain said, pointing to a corner of the card. "You see that name? Jonathan P. Solms. Here I thought it was Woods."

"It could be a stepfather," Charlotte suggested.

"Maybe," Bain agreed. "But then again, maybe not. And look at this one. Patricia S. Woods. A mother, obviously, but what mother would willingly give a credit card to an irresponsible teenager?"

"A very stupid one," Charlotte answered for him.

"We're on the same page, it seems," Bain commented as he stuck the card with Patricia's name back into the billfold, pocketing the other one.

"Now you're on to credit card theft?" she asked.

"Research purposes," he said flippantly. "I think it's time to do a little investigating on Mr. Rod Woods, wouldn't you say?"

* * *

Christophe found himself in an odd little group. For one thing, there was only one girl in it and two, there were three guys, himself included. It wasn't odd because of the 3:1 guy to girl ratio but mainly who made up the group makeup. First there was his ex-girlfriend who was more friendly with him than she had been in a long time, next there was the auburn guy he had taken in and "experimented" with, and lastly there was a very androgynous male who had received a lot of comments of being quite a lovely-looking girl.

And here he was, a bonefide bisexual in the middle of some very decent looking people. And he was French so he couldn't look at something without seeing some kind of romantic application to it.

Best he distract himself with the orangutan over there…who was giving him a raspberry. He could think of a dozen other things that hairy monkey could do with that tongue, hon hon hon—God-cocksucking-damn it.

He had always told himself he would never use that stereotypical French laugh, not even in his own thoughts.

"I think he's jealous," Rhinannon told him, gesturing to the orangutan who was still making a mockery of him. "Maybe he wants to be my next boyfriend."

"I'd be jealous too if ze girl I loved was on ze arm of anozzer man," he replied. "Zeems we both 'ave good tastes, eh?"

"You're so full of yourself," Rhiannon jested though her smile did not fade one bit.

Nearby, Sawyer was busy trying to be an attentive boyfriend, at least that was what he was doing from Christophe's point of view. Newly christened as "boyfriends," it seemed like they were already acting like a married couple. Sort of. Not to the extent that Charlie and her boy toy were. Charlie's relationship had already progressed to the point where each one was trying to murder the other. Sawyer's on the other hand…what could he say, the pair looked good together when Christian wasn't sulking.

Currently, Christian only had his bottom lip sticking out and Sawyer was trying to figure out what was the best way to turn that not-quite-frown upside-down. Christophe didn't consider it much of a frown than a pout but Sawyer seemed a bit…energetic? Zealous? Well whatever, he was like a busy-bee, trying to be a good boyfriend but probably overdoing it.

At least Christian looked to be taking it in stride; he hadn't smacked Sawyer upside the head yet but the French mercenary thought he spied a hand flexing every now and then, wanting to meet with an unsuspecting cheek or arm.

Sawyer needed to chill and let the love flow by itself.

"They really seem close," Rhiannon commented, observing the sight of the two boys. "Aren't they being a little bit public about it?"

"_Non_, not from ze way Sawyer is hovering," Christophe replied.

"Huh? What makes you say that?" Rhiannon asked, looking up at him questioningly.

"Even zough we know better, from where we stand, it looks like zey are close friends," he explained. "Look how close zey are. Zere is at least maybe two, zree feet between zem. "Zey are close enough but just far apart zo zat et doesn't look odd. I guess you could say zey are in ze 'friend zone.'"

"Just like we are," Rhiannon giggled. Pausing, she said, "Now that I think about it, that wasn't a very good pun."

"What puns are?" he asked rhetorically.

"Well…good ones, I think," Rhiannon pondered.

"An obvious answer," he acknowledged, "and a correct one, I suppose."

"You know, sometimes I wonder," Rhiannon said, obviously changing the topic. "What does it take to get out of the 'friend zone?' Not everyone wants to stay there…especially with someone that they love."

"I am not ze person to ask zat. Even I don't know et," Christophe admitted.

"What if there isn't any right answer?" Rhiannon asked rhetorically. "What if there isn't any 'right' way to do it? How would _you_ try to get out of the 'friend zone?'"

"Well, I would go up to ze person I liked and tell zem zat I wanted more zan friendship," he answered. "Pussyfooting a'ound 'as never been my way of doing zings. I guess zat is where I fail at being a Frenchman."

"Straight to the point, huh?" Rhiannon commented. "At least you know what you would do. I don't even know where to start."

"Maybe you 'ave," Christophe said. "Don't you still want to eat my shirt?"

"Yes," she answered immediately, unconsciously, and caught herself only after the fact. That blush on her face still amused the mercenary no matter how many times he saw it. "I mean…uh…I…"

"Maybe for lunch, zen," he said looking straight ahead and keeping an eye on the other couple. "I 'ope you're 'ungry."

"Stop!" Rhiannon protested, her face reddening further.

"I do not zink so," he sang. "Every time I see you like zis, et makes me want to devour your face wiz my lips. I 'ope you don't 'old _zat_ against me."

Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he led her towards where Sawyer and Christian had wandered off. He had a feeling that today might be a good one…for them at least.

* * *

Craig and Clyde stared blankly as Cartman returned their looks intently.

"You want us to do what now?" Clyde asked, wondering if he had heard correctly the first time.

"I don't know how to simplify this any further, Clyde," Cartman said in frustration. "I need your help in pushing Timmy into the snake exhibit. Handicapped people are terrified of snakes; it goes right up into their reptilian brain and since they are unable to use their higher functioning brain parts, they only understand the baser ones."

"Why should we help you?" Craig deadpanned. "We hate you."

"I'll pay you both fifty bucks," Cartman stated.

Both Craig and Clyde looked at one another. Fifty bucks? While that may have been a lot when they were in junior high and a fortune when they were in elementary, that was just pocket change now.

"Two hundred," Craig corrected Cartman. "Each."

"What? That's highway robbery!" Cartman blustered.

"Take it or leave it," Craig shrugged. "Timmy's cool. It'll take at least that much to make it worthwhile."

"You unbelievable assholes. Fine. Okay. Whatever," Cartman huffed. "I'll pay you both after the job is done and none of that half now, half later bullshit."

"Whatever," Craig said though that was all the agreement Cartman needed. Clyde, he knew, would go along with whatever Craig did so that was no issue right now. Shooting a look over to where the snake exhibit was, he saw Timmy wheeling himself in and knew that there was no more time to waste. "Okay guys, enough talk. Timmy just went in. It's now or never. Let's go!"

Cartman led the charge, not looking back to see if his new partners in crime were following. He trusted them to for four hundred bucks, especially since they weren't those assholes Stan and Kyle. He knew what their weakness was: money. Cold, hard cash. Wave a few bills around them and you were golden.

Hopefully they wouldn't let him down like the last time he had used—erm, _employed_ them.

As they entered the exhibit, the air conditioning cooling their bodies that had been warmed by the sun outside, they found before them an impossible sight. In front of them were a bunch of wheelchairs and none of them could tell which one was Timmy's. Sure they could look for Timmy himself but they were so used to identifying the handicapped boy by his wheelchair that they couldn't pick out distinctive physical features.

"Well, what now?" Craig asked, annoying Cartman further.

"Shut up, Craig. Let me think!" Cartman scowled. "He's got to be in here somewhere… Check every chair you find!"

"Oh, that's a brilliant idea," Craig commented.

"How many times do I have to tell you to shut up?" Cartman demanded before something caught his eye. Hey, that chair looked familiar. It was taller than the others and now that he took a better look, it was but one of two wheelchairs that were motorized. Scratch that, it was one now that the other had left the building, passing by what looked like to be an exhibit that was designed to be a replica of a snake pit from an Indiana Jones movie. Why the zoo had decided now of all times to make a snake pit, Cartman didn't know but he did know that the more snakes present, the better chance of success his plan had.

That last remaining motorized wheelchair had to be Timmy's. He had only come in here a short time ago.

Cartman had to shake his head at this. Their Homecoming king was making this too easy! He was right at the side of the so-called snake pit, probably mesmerized in terror by those scaly serpents, and if it was done correctly, no one would notice that the snakes had a nice treat.

"How's it going Timmy?" he said as casually as he could, taking his place right next to the wheelchair. "Is that a new hat? Cool. Hey, wouldn't it be something if you could get closer to those snakes down there? No, no, don't say anything, we'll help you!"

At this point, Craig and Clyde had gotten into the best position to help Cartman lean the motorized wheelchair forward, far enough that Timmy fell off of it and into the pit. Looking around quickly, to see if anyone had seen them, Cartman hissed at his two cohorts to put the chair down and run for it.

As they emerged back into the warmer outdoors, Cartman let out a cackle, threw his arms out and proclaimed, "Now I am KING!"

"I wonder what he was doing with that hemorrhoid cushion," Clyde commented form behind him. "Does Timmy even get hemorrhoids?"

"Beats me," Craig shrugged before turning back to Cartman. "Alright, where's our cash?"

"Hold on a minute, jeez!" Cartman growled at the boy in blue, eyes narrowing when Craig flipped him off. Oh, when they got back to school, he was going to reinstitute beheadings. That Craig was such an asshole that he deserved it.

"Hey guys," Token greeted, a twitching Tweek following behind him. Raising an eyebrow, the sole black representative in their school asked, "What are you doing with Cartman?"

"He's paying us to whack Timmy," Craig stated. "We just pushed him into the snakes back in there." He followed up his last sentence with a thumb jerked towards the building behind them.

"What? Timmy?" Token asked, confused. "I just saw him pass by a second ago."

Cartman froze, eyes widening as he heard that tidbit of information. "Impossible!" the husky teen declared.

"I'm not lying," Token said, holding his hands up. "He's heading for the aquarium. Right Tweek?"

"Ahh! I don't know! This is too much pressure!" the blond boy exclaimed as he tugged on a fistful of hair.

Craig and Clyde looked at one another.

"Then who did we just throw into the snake pit?" Clyde asked.

* * *

"There's his chair," an elderly looking man wearing a cap with the word "Spielberg" written on it said as he lead a chubbier man in a green sweater and gray facial hair. "Darn it, how'd he get loose?" the man asked, scratching the back of his head.

"He couldn't have gotten far, Steven," the wider man said. "We put how many restraints on him?"

"Too many to count, George," Steven answered. "Damn it, we can't keep our eyes off him for a minute!"

"Uh, Steven?" George said as he looked over into the snake pit. "I think I found Harrison."

"What? Where?" Steven demanded.

Looking down into the pit, the two men saw one Harrison Ford dressed in Indiana Jones garb laying in the midst of countless snakes, many of which were slithering on top of him.

Clutching two handfuls of the serpents, the enslaved, former archeologist/starship pilot/actor uttered, "Snakes. Why'd it have to be snakes?"

* * *

Ignoring the screams and "wheees" that were slipping out from the snake exhibit, Cartman was busy throwing a tantrum, kicking a helpless garbage can that would never fall over no matter how many times it was hit.

"Motherfucking son of a bitch!" Cartman swore. "That asshole! The clever, retarded bastard! He's making this too fucking hard! Ass!"

"Maybe we should get out of here," Clyde suggested.

"That sounds like the best idea I've heard all day," Token said.

Soon Cartman was left by his lonesome and only stopped his abuse of helpless trashcans when security arrived to find out what the problem was.

With no other choice, Cartman cheesed it.

* * *

Ever felt like a failure? You know, when everything you do never succeeds and everything you touch is destroyed by the end of the day? That description closely defined just how Sunny was feeling at this moment even though she was in a place of wonder.

She was giving up. Every plan she had come up with to get even with Rod had failed spectacularly. She had tried everything but her plan to resurrect a Hollywood horror star had been the penultimate and as surely as that truck had crushed Jason, so had her hopes been. It was like there was some higher power up there that was getting off by tormenting her so.

Maybe it was because she was so depressed right now that her mother had agreed, no questions asked, about letting go on this trip. Like a zoo was going to make her feel any better. If anything, she envied all the animals she saw. They didn't have to worry about getting used by someone then get tossed aside. All their worries were about feeding time and sleeping. They had it so good…

Tired of standing around, the girl with the faded pink hair made her way to a bench and plopped herself down on it. She was so tired of this; not long ago she had seen Rod again, very much alive and giving all his attention to those fawning girls who had no idea of who he really was.

She couldn't even take pleasure in the fact that he had done the same to some other girls but unlike her, those girls seemed afraid of him leaving them alone. There were a couple here and there that she definitely knew Rod had had…sex…with. Why couldn't they see through those looks? Why?

Someone sat down beside her but she made no move to look at them even though she could feel their gaze on her. She shivered and shrunk in on herself, just wishing to be left alone.

"Have you dug those graves yet?" the person asked.

Blinking, she finally took a look at her unlikely companion and found Kuran staring her down, all alone and without any of the Goths watching over him.

Sighing, she looked back down. "I couldn't do it. I tried so many times but I couldn't do it."

Kuran only nodded and looked away. Either he got her meaning or assumed that she couldn't bring herself to try and harm Rod. There was no invitation to elaborate or anything so Sunny just kept quiet, waiting for one of them to give in.

Oddly enough, she was the one to cave in first. "Where are the others?" she asked, wincing visibly. God, she must have sounded pathetic or something.

"They didn't come," Kuran shrugged. "They said they'd rather not be like the other conformists. I wanted to go. I…like the tigers…"

He was blushing and Sunny wondered if she had found someone like her. This guy was so shy and barely said a word to anyone outside the Goths. The same Goths who hated everyone but then turned around and doted on him like he was some kind of doll that was so delicate that a mere touch would break him. You didn't have to be a genius to know that the curly-haired and red-streaked Goths had a thing for Kuran, a very obvious thing.

At least, she sighed to herself, he had people who cared for him.

"Are you going to give up?" Kuran asked.

She nodded, still not looking at him.

"Be thankful," Kuran said as he shifted in his seat, "you don't have to endure the struggle that comes with having blood on your conscious. You're a good girl. Just a bit gullible, that's all. You'll get through this."

"How do you know?" she asked softly.

"I don't," Kuran said as he stood up. "I just put my faith in God and follow the path that lies ahead of me."

Sunny snapped her head up and stared at Kuran. "W-what? But don't you hate…?"

"The others do," Kuran said. "And I'm not really Goth. I just hang out with them. I just don't like talking, that's all."

She watched as Kuran left, absolutely stunned. It was kinda hard to wrap her mind around it but at the same time she also accepted it. They really were like two of a kind, weren't they? Sunny didn't see herself ever looking at Kuran…in _that_ way…but maybe, maybe they could be friends…if she tried hard enough. At the thought of the other Goths, she revised. Well, maybe not but at least she knew that there was at least one person in this world that understood her.

Maybe…maybe she could find a way out of this…

There was a flash of blond that caught her eye and she noticed Rod once again. She ducked her head, not wanting to look at him, all her doubts coming back in a flash. Her body trembled as it remembered that night all those weeks ago and the helplessness that had come with it. The rough thrusts, the stabs of pain that came with each one, the thought that if she could get through it, everything would be fine and she would have a boyfriend at long last. A dream amidst a nightmare that, once it had begun, had consumed her very life.

Maybe her desire for revenge hadn't been quenched just yet.

Once Rod had disappeared from sight, she allowed herself to relax. She still felt that need to cause Rod some pain, make him feel just as helpless as she had and make him regret using her and everyone else.

And then she saw her ticket.

She had been so focused on the supernatural that she had overlooked the physical. Maybe that was where the flaws in her plans had been. Why try to use something unpredictable…when you could use something that was predictable.

Now how was she going to get Bain Cynis to help her?

* * *

"Are we lost or something?" Kyle asked. "I swear, we've passed by that same orangutan three times already. Stan?"

"Just give me a minute," Stan muttered as he studied the zoo map.

"How hard is it to find where the aquarium is on a piece of shit map like that?" Kyle demanded. "Give me that fucking thing."

"I got it, Kyle," Stan scowled, elbowing the redhead away. "Just hold onto your panties or something."

"Why don't you get that thong out of your ass, you might loosen up!" Kyle snapped back. Stan flushed slightly at that and purposely turned his back to Kyle. "Goddamnit, there's nothing interesting around here to look at while you try to pretend to be literate."

"I wouldn't say that," Kenny whistled. "Would you look at the legs on those?"

Kyle gave the blond a dead look but looked to where his perverted friend was looking. He leered in disgust at the sight of a couple of his classmates who were purposely bending over, giving Kenny the kind of sight that he usually had wet dreams about.

What the two of them didn't know was that this was being played up by LESBIAN, Gwendolyn Long coaching Brittany Love and Bonnie Synder while keeping an eye out on their target. "We've got the target's attention. Brittany, ham it up some!"

"This is so humiliating," Brittany groaned. "Kenny can't possibly like this."

Meanwhile, Kyle smacked Kenny on the back of his head and crossed his arms. "Kenny, don't encourage them. Or yourself."

"Hey, I'm just enjoying what you can't," Kenny quipped. "I'm doing this for the both of us. You really should be thanking me."

"Can I quote you on that?" Kyle asked dryly. "If I recall, those were some famous last words."

"Whatever," Kenny rolled his eyes. "I'm going to go get a better look."

"Be careful, that's the gorilla cage," Kyle called after him.

Kenny, however, didn't hear him as he was too intent on getting his…close-up, yes…

"He's coming over here!" Bonnie whispered hurriedly.

"Stand up," Gwendolyn instructed. "Don't give him everything all at once. Make him work for it!"

"How did you even afford these earpieces?" Brittany muttered as she gratefully restored her impeccable posture.

"I'm rich, bitch. Just deal with it," Gwendolyn's voice hissed from the piece. "Don't pay attention to me, look at Kenny! He's practically on top of you!"

Sharing a look at Bonnie, the two knew that for the moment their cooperation would end as each sought after the same prize: Kenny McCormick.

"Ladies! Is there something I can help you with?" Kenny asked as he came to a stop in front of the two beauties. He didn't notice the tension that suddenly existed between the two girls who were subtly glaring at one another.

It was Bonnie, though, that acted first, a look of surprise forming on her face as she greeted Kenny. "Kenny! I didn't see you there. Is there something you need?" As she spoke, her words sped up as if she wanted to get it all out as soon as possible, as if expecting someone would interrupt her.

"Not really," he shrugged. "I have everything I could need right in front of me."

"That's so sweet," Brittany interrupted, cooing at the blond. "Would you like to go on another date? I had a lot of…fun…yeah, fun that last time."

"You did?" Kenny asked, puzzled. "You didn't seem to be with Damien there and everything…"

Bonnie looked put out, slightly distressed at hearing that her rival in love had gotten further with the love of her life than she ever had and she bit her lip in frustration. Kenny, though, didn't notice this as he was lost in thought. His blue eyes lit up as an idea came to him and he wasted no time in sharing it with the two girls.

"Say, why don't the three of us spend the day with one another? It'll be fun, just me and you and you, simultaneously."

Both the girl blushed as their minds supplied them with images that weren't fit for reading audiences everywhere.

"Don't think about it, just say yes," Kenny purred, trying to hypnotize the two into agreeing with just his eyes and voice alone. There was some movement behind the girls and Kenny looked up, his eyes locking with those of a silverback gorilla that had wandered towards the edge of his enclosure to get a better look at the two females that the blond was speaking with.

There was a stray thought that went through Kenny's head at that moment and oddly enough, it came along with Cartman's voice.

_All you have to do is look a male gorilla in the eyes and he'll go crazy and rip you apart._

The gorilla roared and rammed its large hand through its cage, grabbing Kenny by his face and pulling him in before he could even scream.

Not that he needed it but both Bonnie and Brittany made it up for him as they both screamed.

"Oh my God! That thing's killing Kenny!" Bonnie screamed.

His eyes still trained on the map that he had managed to snatch away from a pouting Stan, Kyle said dully, "You bastard."

* * *

This was getting ridiculous, Cartman told himself. Timmy must have had used up all the luck he'd ever have in this lifetime by now. First the stairs and then tricking him with that stuntman with the snakes? Well, no more mister nice guy.

This time, Cartman had a foolproof plan.

And it involved crocodiles.

Timmy, apparently, was a masochist and was going back into the reptile section of the zoo again. Cartman had thought that once would have been enough for him but he was mistaken. However, Timmy wasn't heading to the snakes but to the larger reptiles such as the alligators, the crocodiles, and the odd Komodo dragon.

Since that asshole Craig and his guys decided to bail on him after the snake fiasco and he couldn't find Stan and Kyle anywhere, Cartman had drafted someone else to help him out with this one final plan. If this plan didn't work, he'd give up Cheezy Poofs for a day. He did not want to give up his Cheezy Poofs for a day as he could hardly go an hour without tasting their processed cheesiness.

Just think of it as added motivation to get this done right.

"Why do you want me here?" Brandon Smith asked, looking lost. "We don't hang out with each other at all. I don't even like you."

"Look, I need a patsy in case shit hits the fan," Cartman explained. "Now, here's how we're going to do this little tango—"

"What? Like hell I'm going to be a patsy!" Brandon griped. "I'm outta here."

"Ay! Where the hell do you think you're going?" Cartman demanded.

"I'm going to see myself some manatees. Manatees are fucking awesome," Brandon answered as he marched away or tried to.

"I'll give you a hundred bucks to help me kill a handicapped kid," Cartman stated.

"Do you know how bad that just sounded?" Brandon asked, giving Cartman an odd look.

Cartman thought about his words for a second. "No, I can't see anything wrong with what I said. Why?"

"Dude, check yourself into an asylum because you are nucking futs," Brandon said as he spun around on his heel and tried to get as far away from Cartman as possible. He nearly ran over Charity Simmons who yelled at him to watch where he was going.

Were those braces she had on her teeth? Yes, yes they were. On the spur of the moment, he decided to follow after the girl who was quickly heading to another part of the zoo. There was just something about those braces…something that probably had to do with the food that was messed up in them.

"Fine! I can do this on mah own!" Cartman yelled after the turncoat. Quickly, he scanned his surroundings, finding Timmy as he was passing by the crocodiles, a tanned, blonde girl at his side.

"Oh? Picking your queen already? Planning on siring a child? Not on my watch," Cartman growled.

As he drew closer to the one person that stood in his way of becoming Homecoming king, he stopped a zoo employee that was walking by and asked about the crocodiles' feeding schedule.

"Hey, it's about that time…thanks fat boy," the employee said as he scurried off.

"Ay! I'm not fat!" Cartman yelled after him.

Damn it, he got away. Well, at least he still had Timmy nearby and knew about what it was that zoos fed to crocodiles at feeding time. Anyone who worked at a zoo knew this: crocodiles' main diet consisted of eating handicapped people. Timmy was handicapped so he fit all the criteria that earned him a trip down into the crocodile pit.

Strolling up behind his king, Cartman asked the handicapped teen casually, "Aren't those some big choppers?"

"Timmy!" Timmy agreed.

"Hi Tubby," Alicia Stone, the girl not seen since chapter nine, greeted. "Oh, sorry—"

"No, it's fine," Cartman gritted through his teeth. No it was not fine but he needed to have a clear head for what he was about to do. …maybe he should throw her in as well. He was not fat, he was big-boned, Goddamn it! "I didn't notice you were there, ho," he said, unable to hold back the self-esteem damaging comment.

Timmy's attention was diverted towards him and away from the crocodiles that he seemingly was suppose to be afraid of but…wasn't. Cartman hated the look Timmy was giving him; it was as if he already knew what he was trying to do and was daring him to go through with it!

In reality, Timmy hadn't caught what he had said and was looking at Cartman so that he would repeat himself.

Ignoring the hurt look Alicia now had on, Cartman directed all his attention towards Timmy. "Wouldn't you like to get a closer look at the crocodiles, Timmy? I'm sure they'd all would be grateful to meet you, you know."

"Aren't those alligators?" Alicia asked, not looking at the sign right behind her that stated that indeed, the reptiles below them were crocodiles.

Cartman didn't bother correcting the girl. "Come on Timmy, let me help you out."

"T-Timmy," Timmy said, trying to squirm away from Cartman's hands. No, he did not want to go take a closer look at the crocodiles, thank you very much.

"Come on Timmy. Stop wiggling!" Cartman complained as Timmy struggled against him.

"Timmy! Tim-Timmy!" Timmy exclaimed.

"Why are you raping Timmy?" Alicia asked curiously, not doing anything to help the handicapped teen out.

Pausing, Cartman looked up at Alicia in horror. "What? Raping! What the hell, are you blind woman? I'm—ahg!"

Seeing that Cartman had been distracted, Timmy had acted quickly to try and save his precious skin, grabbing Cartman's head and banging it harshly against the metal railing the preventing anyone from accidently becoming croc food. He banged Cartman's head against it a couple more times before shoving the huskier teen away.

Backing his wheelchair from the crocodile exhibit, Timmy took off, wanting to go to a more safer part of the zoo. Staring at Cartman who was slumped against the railing, Alicia shrugged and left him there, following after Timmy.

A few minutes later, the zoo employee from earlier came back, looking around for something, or someone in this case, before spotting the out-of-it Cartman.

"Hey kid," the zoo employee said. "Would you like to get to know the crocodiles a bit better? Here, let me help you."

Looking both ways, the employee smirked as he pushed Cartman over the railing and into the croc exhibit. Dusting his hands, he put them in his pockets, his task to feed the crocs complete. It wasn't always easy to find a retarded kid around here. Damn those picky reptiles and their strict diets.

Coming to, Cartman looked around blearily, wondering where he was until he spotted a crocodile only a foot away from him, a hiss coming out from that long snout.

"Oh, son of a—"Cartman swore as the croc attacked.

* * *

"What tha hell happened to you?" the bus driver sneered as an injured Cartman dressed only in the tattered remains of his jacket and ripped pants, water dripping off from every part of his body, climbed up the steps into the vehicle.

"Wardrobe malfunction," were the only words Cartman said as he trudged down the bus aisle.

"You better not get any water on mah seats, fatass," the bus driver scowled. Looking back towards the bus door, his sneer intensified in its disgust. "Well if it ain't tha midget. Get your ass on tha bus, boy!"

Bain came to a stop in front of the bus driver, their sights connecting and placing the two representatives of evil back into another battle. From behind Bain, Charlie groaned and shoved her way past the two.

"Why are you so disgruntled?" Bain asked after a few minutes of the standoff. "Did something happen? Lose your family? Dog get run over by a semi? What?"

"What the hell you talkin' 'bout, boy?" the bus driver snapped. "Sit your fuckin' ass down on—"

"Is that the best you can do?" Bain interrupted. The hush on the bus became even quieter as those in the know stared at Bain appalled. Had he just interrupted one of the most resentful men on the planet? "What are you, a running gag? A joke that doesn't change and is used only to provide a quick laugh at the expense of somebody else? Have you no depth? We get it; you're a fat man on a power trip who blames others for his own faults and takes no responsibility. Why don't you get over yourself and stop trying to assert yourself like this. It's pretty pathetic."

"What would you know?" the bus driver spat. "You don't know what it's like! You and everyone else get to be developed into different characters who get to go on amazing adventures because your creators cared about you! The asshole who came up with me only made me into a one dimensional character!"

Bain blinked, not expecting such an answer as the man before him broke down.

"What am I? I'm a fucking bus driver!" the bus driver cried out. "It's all I've got!" Collapsing against the steering wheel, the bus driver pounded on the horn, the bus horn blaring with each following word. "It's all" _honk_ "I've" _honk_ "go-oo-oo-oo-ot!" _hoooooooooonk!_

Bain looked from side to side, unsure of what to do. He had not expected such a reaction and was, frankly, lost on what else he could do. The bus driver, meanwhile, sobbed and blubbered for a minute before sitting back up, no trace of any tears or snot on his chubby face.

"Now sit yer ass on the bus!" the bus driver roared into Bain's face, any signs of his psychological breakdown nonexistent.

Once again, Bain conceded defeat and trekked back to his seat, his head bowed.

"Yea, that's what I thought," the bus driver grunted before turning to glare at Mackey who had finally shown himself. "What are _you_ lookin' at?"

"Not this again," Mackey moaned to himself as he walked up into the bus. Looking around at the students and mentally taking a head count, he said, "I think that's all of us, m'kay. How's about we start heading back?"

Mackey slowly took his seat at the glare the bus driver leveled at him. Sneering, the bus driver said, "Pussies, the lot of ya. I wouldn't bother screwin' any of yous, yous pussies are that pathetic."

The passengers quickly gripped their seats as the bus doors closed.


	22. Dealing with the Devil

Author's Note: Fun fact, did you know that Bain has a fan page on Facebook? For those who have been keeping up with me for about a year, you already know this. For those of you who haven't, now you know. Funny thing, I wasn't the one who made the page; someone else did and for over a year, I have yet to find out the identity of this person. I don't have anything against the page, in fact I'm somewhat honored and touched by it. Who can honestly say that they have a South Park OC who has a fanpage made for them by somebody else? Another fun fact: a portion of this chapter was inspired by and ripped off from Zephyr Morpheus Lee's _Hell's Babysitter_. ZML sort of intended for it to take place after _Fiends_ but hey, I've drawn this fic out long enough that, chronologically, I've run into it. You want more details of what is going on in the first half, read _Hell's Babysitter_ for them. On a personal note, ZML, I hope you don't mind. There's a section where the dialogue is word for word; wanted to talk with you about it first but you didn't respond so I'll give you credit and a disclaimer for this stunt.

With that out of the way, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or Zephyr Morpheus Lee's _Hell's Babysitter_.

Warning: language

Dealing with the Devil

Had anyone been awake or not drunk out of their mind, they would have said this was the darkest night any of them could have remembered. Sure, night was dark by nature but there was something _unnatural_ about this night.

One could even say that this darkness was evil.

Indoors it would be as the night was waited out but come morning, the pale light that made the world visible was dull. That, in effect, made everything that much more depressing.

What could have caused this? Why was it happening?

Only one person in the town of South Park would be able to answer that that morning and currently he was trailing after a girl wearing a medallion made with the tooth of Chuck Norris and wore a backpack on his back.

Damien had been eager to make his return to the surface but had he known what his father had been up to, he would have considered not coming back at all.

* * *

What was up with all the new kids showing up? They sure chose the perfect time to transfer in or whatever it is they have to do to get into high school. This new one was cutting it close; Homecoming was already over so either this new kid's parents had really bad timing or were purposely doing this to piss the kid off.

Those were the rumors Kenny heard as he entered the school that morning, still recovering from the aftershocks of being mauled by a silverback gorilla. In layman's terms, he was coming to terms with dying and no one Goddamn remembering. The joke is old. Ha ha, we all get a laugh. Let's get over it already.

Back to the new kid, he automatically knew what this kid's fate was. There were still those around who were still not over the fact that the last new kid had nearly gotten away unscathed. If this kid was a guy, he was about to face hell from the other guys who had to repress their sociopathic tendencies. If it was a girl…well, he wished her luck because, as every guy knows, Hell hath no fury like a woman. He thought there was a "scorned" somewhere in that quote but that part had never been able to make sense to him.

"Guys, this is like a Godsend," Cartman told the three of them, the other two being Stan and Kyle. "Not that you would know what a Godsend is, Kyle. You are a Godless Jew as everyone knows. But here, we get a second chance! This time no girls or their fortress of solitude is going to stop us!"

Kenny had stopped paying attention to what Cartman had said halfway through in favor of watching a growling Kyle try to lunge at him, Stan holding him back in a full nelson with some difficulty. Ah, the look of unbridled fury in those green eyes of the Jew so early in the morning. For some reason or another, Kenny had the urge to jump them bones, something he hadn't ever felt before.

His sexuality must be going haywire today. He might have to turn it off and wait until it resets.

It had nothing to do with him tugging at the hood of his parka to relieve some of the trapped heat that was building up from his body.

"Okay, so what I was thinking is that we need to pretend like we want to be this new kid's friends and then lure him to, like, a bathroom and once there we give him the mother of all swirlies! It'll be so awesome," Cartman plotted out loud to them. There was that evil gleam that was back in his eye but the three boys were so used to it by now that it bothered them no longer.

"Dude, swirlies are for elementary kids," Kenny said, looking back at the ever-widening Cartman. "We're high school kids. We can do better than that."

"Hmm, you got a point," Cartman conceded as he took up a thoughtful pose. "What's worse that giving him a swirly?"

Kyle had calmed down by now…slightly…but he was no longer trying to rip Cartman's head off at the first chance, allowing Stan to relax his hold on the Jew so that he could also use his seldom utilized brain.

"What about if we find out something embarrassing about the kid and put it up on the morning announcements tomorrow," he suggested.

"Stan. That has to be one of the greatest ideas you have ever come up with," Cartman praised. "It has to be in the top five! No really, I'm proud of you."

"This is so sick," Kyle muttered under his breath as he trained his eyes on the tiled floor. "At the very least you should fill his locker with cream cheese or something. Don't you think that's going a bit too far?"

"Kyle, this is why Jews will never take over the world," Cartman said. "They have no vision!"

Kyle seethed. "Jews do too have vision! In fact, I foresee what happened to the last kid we did that to happening to this one."

"Wait, we did that one already?" Kenny asked. "When?"

"Back in middle school," Kyle answered. "We found out the kid had a colonoscopy, went to his doctor's and made copies of it, then scattered the copies all over the school and told everyone on the morning announcements that it belonged to that kid. He killed himself after school that very day but that might have had to do with everyone talking about how he had a peanut wedged into his colon, which required surgery to get out if I remember correctly."

"That was an accident Kyle, and you know it!" Cartman defended.

"Oh, it was my imagination that the kid did a bellyflop in front of a semi?" Kyle asked sarcastically.

…okay, Kyle might have had a point on that one. Now that he mentioned it, Kenny did remember that one. How could he forget how that kid's eyes lit up when he spotted that semi barreling down the road and timing it so that he jumped right in front of its grill guard at the last second? At least there were no "Oh my God! They killed Kenny's" or "You bastards" thrown about that day.

"Dude, it's okay," Stan said. "We avoid anything that involves colons and peanuts. We'll just find out if the kid likes to wear girls' clothes or something. That's not too bad."

"Stan, you may just be saved yet," Cartman said. The hefty teen wiped some sweat off his forehead and complained about the heater being too high. Then he commented, "I don't know why, Stan, but today you look so hot, I want to—"

The rest was edited out by timely bleeps but they all got the message. Cartman wanted Stan in _that_ way. Huh, that explains so much…but why did Kenny find himself agreeing to that? And why did he feel like it was getting hotter?

"Dude," Kyle said. "I know that I'm gay but really. Are you copying my shtick?"

"No!" Cartman said hastily. "I…I don't know why I said that actually. I'm not really gay. Really! That's for the Jewrat over there! Don't you guys believe me?"

"Stay twenty feet away from me and we'll be fine," Stan said coolly, using Kyle now as a human shield in case Cartman tried anything. Huh, did Kyle's tight ass seem tighter today or something?

"Guys, your cheeks are pink," Kyle pointed out. "Are you guys…you know, horny? If so, find some girls to screw or use your right hands or something. You're creeping me out." Funny, Kenny thought to himself. Kyle didn't seem to be at all affected like the rest of them. Now that he thought about it, Kyle looked so much more attractive…

Nearby, Craig and Clyde passed by, Clyde with his hand pressed tightly against his groin and moaning/crying, "It won't go down! It won't go down!"

"Kyle, you got to stop this," Cartman said dully, his voice not as colorful as it usually was. "Stop using your Jew magic Kyle. Before I do something I'll regret."

"Laying a hand on what is mine? You have a lot of balls, you three. I'll give you that."

Kenny pried his hungry eyes off Kyle, the act itself a trial, as he tried to identify the odd, high-pitched voice that had just spoken. He, and the rest of them, found out soon enough and Kenny found his arousal plummeting like he had just been hit with icy cold water only for it to return double the force.

Pale ashen skin, black clothes, hair blacker than the blackest void, and the most unnatural red eyes you ever saw…

"Damien?" Kyle squeaked.

It all clicked into place for Kenny though the thought he had only lasted for a few minutes. Whatever it was that was turning everybody on, Damien was responsible for it. He could feel it now; there were like this kind of lust waves that Damien was radiating and the closer you were, the more lustful you became.

Oh good, Kenny thought to himself in relief. His drive wasn't going haywire. Oh what a relief!

Before Damien could say another word, he was suddenly jostled and pulled away by the most unlikely of people to do so. What was Lottery Ticket doing taking Damien's arm and dragging him away and why wasn't she feeling very lusty like everybody else?

Taking advantage of the distraction, Kyle elbowed Stan and freed himself from his stronger friend's hold, taking off in the opposite direction of which they had last seen Damien being dragged in.

"After him!" Cartman commanded. "He's using Jew magic! Get the Jew magician!"

Let it not be said that even in the wake of the lust Damien was spreading around that Cartman wouldn't think of someway to use it against Kyle.

* * *

It was first period when Kenny saw Damien again and only after a lengthy chase scene which resulted in Kyle getting away and Cartman declaring to make him pay for casting his "Jew spells" on them.

If it had been normal circumstances, only the most gullible of people would have fallen for it. However, this wasn't normal circumstances and so a bunch of people had fallen for it…including him.

Kenny wrote down on a sheet of paper a reminder to make it up to Kyle. It had to do so long as he remained lucid because if he crossed paths with Damien again, he might be made horny again and all rational thought would have vanished.

Why'd that son of a bitch have to come back? He had thought after what had happened at Shakey's Damien would have been grounded for a decade or something. Why was Satan allowing him back after what, a month? Two months? Something was up, he could feel it. He could feel it as it walked right through the door just as the bell rang.

Odd, he had seen Charlie and Damien a few minutes earlier and yet they were still late for class?

He'd suspect foul play but he had nothing to back that feeling up with.

Still, he did not envy either of them because it just so happened that Dr. Gunn was leering at them, the old man milking his use with his walker for all that it was worth.

"Miss White," the elderly man greeted. "You're late."

Sighing, Charlie said, "Will a pack of cigarettes shut you up?" Kenny found himself chuckling at them. Good ol' Lottery Ticket. If all else fails, resort to bribery.

"Of course not!" Dr. Gunn exclaimed. Kenny had to roll his eyes at that; he was going to pull the "how dare you think I would stoop that low?" card and so early in the morning too. "Such bribery will not be tolerated in my classroom!" Pfft, as if that had ever stopped him before.

Charlie, though, still had a few cards up her sleeve. "How about six ounces of cannabis and you write this one off?"

There was some murmuring at that one but no one was completely surprised by hearing those words. Gunn sure did love his pot but that didn't stop him from being a complete asshole about it.

"Baked in brownies, or there's no deal," Gunn ordered. "I can't have people smelling it in my classroom, got it?"

Cue roar of laughter. Kenny himself not exempt from it because, it was funny shit to see a teacher let himself be bribed with drugs. Sure it must violate some code of ethics or something but it wasn't like anyone in the class was going to rat the guy out. Not only was it prime blackmail material but it was funny as hell to see the guy try to teach when he was high out of his mind.

Kenny ended his laughter sooner than the others though mainly because he wanted to keep an eye out on Damien. He was a bit too close to Lottery Ticket, physically speaking that is, and Kenny, for whatever reason, couldn't get it out of his head that Damien was cheating on one of his friends.

Not that he wanted Kyle to be going out with Damien in the first place but what could you do?

He semi-ignored Gunn as the self-proclaimed doctor took charge of the class, today's lesson covering _Leviathan_ and the genius that was Hobbes. Like Kenny cared about some dead guy who wrote some dumb book so long ago. He was more interested in watching Damien, trying to figure out just what he was up to.

Why was the Antichrist of all people attending school? Was this a part in some overly elaborate plot or was Satan just in the mood to torture his son? Kenny couldn't figure it out and it was not known that he had a very analytic mind. He did have one, he just didn't use it very often.

Now would be a very good time, he thought to himself as he realized that Gunn had stopped speaking. Did that deluded old man catch him not paying attention? Unlike Charlie, it was going to be harder for him to get his hands on some weed. It wasn't that he couldn't find any, it was just that he didn't have the cash to pay for it.

Unlike some people around here…

"I forgot to mention, we have fresh meat to initiate," Dr. Gunn announced to the class, his thin lips parted into a hungry grin, his beady eyes devouring the sight of Damien like he was some kind of antelope. "Damien Thorne?"

Kenny had to give Damien credit; he didn't look caught off guard or even the slightest bit afraid. The Antichrist merely rolled his eyes and replied, "Yes?"

"Stand, please," Gunn ordered more than asked, the light from the dull light fixtures in the ceiling flashing off his glasses.

Damien, though, shook his head in the negative, crossing his arms over his chest as if to say "make me." Kenny had to say Damien had balls but the pure malice that Gunn directed in his glare at the Antichrist seemed to unnerve him enough for Damien to give up his attempt at rebellion and stand up like he was asked to earlier.

As if undergoing a transformation, Gunn was pleasant once more as he held up a meter stick, lightly tapping the end of it on the ever present diagram he had on his dry-erase board. "Tell me," Gunn asked, "if you woke up one morning with breasts and a vagina, what would you do?"

Kenny took a moment out of his busy day to admire the natural beauty that was this woman (any resemblance to Bain Cynis' mother an "unintentional" coincidence). If only there were more women like that out in the world…

Damien too looked enraptured by the diagram but it seemed like his fascination was short lived as he smirked idly. "I suppose I would finally find that damn G-spot." It didn't hurt that a canine was peeking out from Damien lips, making him look either more badass or feral.

Kenny took a quick peek around at the class, noticing that Charlie was doing the same, gauging the reaction of the rest of the class. The blond, to his dismay, saw that all the girls were taken with this dark stranger who offered nothing but danger and sex. And when he meant all, he meant _all_. It was depressing to the blond, really. The guys, however, were more reserved though Kenny could see a couple looked impressed and another wondering how he hadn't thought of that answer first.

Ultimately, though, it was Gunn whose opinion mattered most. Would Damien's answer endear him to the senile deviant or displease the doctor. Dr. Gunn's perversion was legendary, even to a pervert like himself. If Gunn didn't approve…well, it was nice knowing you Damien.

Finally, after waiting too long, Dr. Gunn cracked an identical smirk. "Close, but not quite." Kenny suddenly found the end of the meter stick being pointed directly at him and he knew it was his turn to school the newbie. "McCormick! The correct answer, please!"

Dusting the white shirt he wore under his unzipped parka, he stood up like the champion that he was and declared very boldly, "If _I_ had become a woman as fine as Sybil Cynis, as you have so gallantly provided, Doctor, I would have no choice but to masturbate. Vigorously." He peeked from the corner of his eye, noting Damien's startled look.

However, that was not the only face he saw. A couple seats away, he could see Rod glaring at him, the blond seething in what looked to be jealousy. Ah yes, he remembered that he had answered somewhat similarly when it had been Rod's turn. Even then, he had still triumphed over the muscular blond and knowing that he was 1up on the guy had to rankle in Rod's ass.

No skin off his nose as, Kenny knew, his middle name was not Casanova for nothing.

* * *

Kyle was having a bad day. He knew it. He admitted it. He knew the cause of it. Honestly, he shouldn't be surprised by the fact that Cartman was taking advantage of the weird going-ons to make him into a scapegoat.

But when he got down to it, Cartman was only reacting to another cause and this one was one that Kyle was a bit hesitant to take on. How do you tell the Antichrist of all people to stop whatever it is he was doing? He didn't want to sound like the jealous boyfriend (because he was not a girlfriend, no matter what Kenny said) and order Damien to stop making people horny.

Though, that was what he really wanted to do. He didn't like all the talk that was going around; the guys and girls from his class back in the third grade didn't seem to remember Damien and every girl was talking about how attractive the "new" kid was. After managing to escape from Cartman's makeshift lynch mob earlier, he had overheard countless girls giggling over the handsome badass they had seen walking around and also whispering in hushed voices how he was following after Charlie White.

That last part, he couldn't understand. Charlie's boyfriend was not the person you went around pissing off and it was rumored he had vivisected a dozen guys who tried to hit on her. It was just a rumor; it had only been one. Kyle only knew it had been one because it was Damien who had told him during a walk a few months ago, Damien leading him around like he was a pet. And because it was Damien who was the center of these new whisperings about mortal danger, Kyle knew he didn't have to worry much.

What could that psychopath do about Damien anyway? Nothing, that's what.

Ultimately, what Kyle found chilling was that while he was in his first period, he had overheard Craig speaking with Token about Damien and he couldn't forget the words that stoic teen had said.

"_Hear about the new kid? He's the palest guy I've ever seen. Have you ever met someone like that?"_

It was the way he said it, as if he had never met or seen Damien before. That was impossible, Craig had sure has hell had been in the classroom on Damien's original first day. How could he have forgotten about him, especially when on his first day Damien torched the playground?

He smelled a rat. Either Damien was making them forget about him while simultaneously turning them on or… At this, Kyle swallowed, his throat dry. …or this was the doing of Damien's father, Satan.

There was no way this could work out if those two were involved in something. Was Satan planning on making _another_ return?

As he stood in the boys' restroom, staring at himself in front of a mirror, Kyle wondered if maybe he should get out of…whatever it is he had with Damien. He hadn't had this thought since the time Damien had dragged him down to Hell and kinda-sorta forced him into a relationship. He should cut his losses now and get out as soon as he could. That's what he—

"Hmm, skipping class? I knew I was rubbing off on you."

That darkness, that evilness that he could only associate with the Antichrist enveloped him, possessed him, and drove out the thoughts of running out. He could feel two arms wrap around his torso, holding him tightly while a long, forked tongue slithered across his skin, just under his ear and flicking against his cheek. Kyle felt a shudder run down his spine and he knew resistance was futile.

"Do you know how much I missed you, my pet?" Damien purred into his ear. "You've spoiled me like a drug. The first day down there with no access to you was tough. I believe I went through withdrawal symptoms, I'm that addicted to you. Tell me, did you miss me too?"

Kyle nodded and rasped, "Yes." How could he lie? His hands were gripping the sink in front of him so tightly that his knuckles were turning white and besides, Damien had this knack for telling when he was lying or telling the truth.

Damien was very creative when it came to punishing him for telling a small lie to him. It was cost-benefits; the price for lying wasn't worth the risk of actually lying.

"Open your eyes, Kyle," Damien said throatily. "Look into the mirror. I want to see those lovely emeralds of yours again."

Kyle obeyed because there was no reason not to. He hadn't been aware that he had had his eyes shut the whole time and now that they were open, he could see his reflection with Damien right behind him, those red eyes peering into his reflected eyes. One of Damien's arms peeled off him and raised up, a hand removing his green ushanka. Clawed fingers combed into his curly fro of a hairdo and Kyle reclined his head back as those sharp finger nails lightly scratched his scalp.

"That's right," Damien purred. "Just like before; nothing has changed, has it? You are still mine."

Kyle mewed in agreement, silently berating himself for making such a noise. It was the kind of thing Cartman would rip him for and Kenny would tease.

"I would love to pin you to a wall, or even one of those stalls," Damien said breathily. "I've missed you, my pet, so very much and I would love nothing more than to continue where we left off. Unfortunately…my babysitter is calling me."

"What?" Kyle asked, blinking owlishly, his mind not comprehending what he had just heard. It was like he was in some kind of daze and his mind was all muddled.

"Do not fret; when I can get away, you can be sure I'll be visiting," Damien said as he propped the Jew against the sink and disentangled himself from him. "Take care of Cerberus until then."

The only thing Kyle was aware of was when the restroom door shut. It was like he was snapped out of a spell and he was thankful that he had the sink to lean against. His legs were wobbly, threatening to collapse from underneath him if he so much as took a step away.

Kyle looked at his reflection, taking it in for a moment, before he bowed his head and sighed.

What had he been thinking about earlier? He should have known better that there was no running from this.

Maybe he needed to talk with Gary.

* * *

There was something unsettling about that new kid, Rod found himself thinking. It wasn't that there was anything wrong about Damien, jus that there was nothing _right_ about him.

That and whenever Rod found himself catching sight of those unnatural red eyes (unnatural because who honestly had _natural_ red eyes?), it was like they were peeing into his very soul and shoving every sin he had ever committed into his face.

He didn't like it. Not one bit.

Plus, it was putting a cramp into his style. It seemed like every girl he had come on to only had eyes for this guy. How could that even be possible? They had _him_ for crying out loud! He was a fucking Adonis and Damien was practically scrawny compared to him! There was nothing there! He was a ripoff of that dumb movie _The Omen_ and that's all he had going on for him!

And what was up with that Goddamn coin he kept flipping? He knew he wasn't the only one curious about it but he was also the only one that was able to spot out that this coin didn't look right. It didn't have the usual symbols of any coin he had ever seen. There were no eagles or some Indian bitch's face on it and it was larger than any gold coin he had ever laid eyes on. So where did he get it?

Yeah, he was feeling frustrated, no doubt about it. He was suddenly being deprived of his lifeforce, that of naïve girls who he could trick into fucking them into his mattress. If that wasn't a mega cockblock, he didn't know what else was.

He wanted to punch this guy in his face, break that nose, twist that pretty little neck, and maybe do some other things that weren't politically correct or whatever the term was.

Let's not forget that one little detail in which this new kid was hanging about Charlie. Like, he was shadowing her and there was not one time he didn't see the girl without seeing the boy close behind. At first, he thought that maybe Damien also had eyes on her but then where was that shrimp and why hadn't he done anything yet? He, like the rest of the school, knew how possessive the murderous midget was yet there was Damien unscratched and still breathing.

All this stuff made no sense and when things made no sense to Rod, it made him feel like he had no control. He hated not having control. Just ask every girl and guy he's ever done.

But what pissed him off the most, really, was that magnificent, fucking answer Damien gave to the old doctor in first period. The G-spot. Why hadn't he thought of that before? It was fucking brilliant! After all the girls he had done, he had yet to discover where that fabled spot was and that was plain ass embarrassing.

What kind of sex maniac didn't know how to find a G-spot? It was fucking wrong, that's what.

He slammed his locker door shut with unnecessary force, his anger reinforced when he didn't see a single girl standing right next to him, waiting for him like always. He was so fucking alone and he knew that it had to be Damien's fault. If he hadn't shown up, he'd still be up to his neck with girls wanting to go out with him.

As he spun around on his heel, he found out almost too late that he may have come to an assumption too soon. There was a girl nearby, waiting on him to get his books but it was surprising to see just who it was.

"Wendy?" he asked, blinking at her. "Wow, it's been a while, hasn't it?" he asked all the while scolding himself for forgetting about her. He had been so focused on all the other girls that he had forgotten that he also wanted to get this girl in his bed. Hey, maybe he could make up for lost time.

"Hey Rod," Wendy greeted him back, shifting her weight from leg to leg. "Do you have time to talk?"

The bell would be ringing soon, he noted, but this was too great an opportunity to waste. If he didn't take it now, he probably wouldn't get another chance.

"Sure. Let's go out back," he said, gesturing with his head. "Next period is going to start soon and you look like you need to talk some." Good, good, be smooth Rod. Pretend that you really are interested in what she has to say.

Wendy bit her lip, looking uncomfortable at doing such a thing but eventually she agreed to it. Rod held back a smirk, not wanting to scare the girl away too soon.

A couple minutes later, the bell was ringing but the two of them were out by the garbage dumpster, positioned carefully so that if anyone else happened to come out here, they wouldn't be seen right away.

Rod leaned back against the school itself, his hands resting in the pockets of his leather jacket and his favorite hat perched uncertainly on his head. Wendy copied his posture though her arms were crossed over her chest. Huh, she really looked upset, Rod thought. Not really his problem but he'd play along.

"You've been in a lot of relationships, right?" Wendy finally asked after several minutes of silence.

Rod looked at her curiously. "What gives you that idea?"

"Don't play dumb with me; it's no secret how many girls you've been with," Wendy scoffed.

Rod raised his shoulders and lowered his head sheepishly. "Yeah…I see how'd you get that idea. I…haven't been the best person around, have I?" Even the pauses were intentional.

"That's the understatement of the year," Wendy snorted. "After all I went for with you, trying to protect you from the guys when you first started here, it burned when I saw what you started doing. Had I known you were a playboy who went around breaking girls' hearts, I would have left you to the guys. But since you are a guy, you'd probably know what's going on inside another's head, wouldn't you?"

"Go on," he said, burned at the words the girl was throwing at him. Whatever patience he once had with the girl had been cut short and now all he wanted to do was to pin her against the wall and have his way with her.

"I'm having problems with Stan. He's not as attentive as he used to be," Wendy explained though it sounded like she was dragging the words out of her than letting them come out as a rush. "He's more distracted."

"He's thinking about another girl," he said dismissively and bluntly. He had planned on leading her to that conclusion but her words earlier, well they kind of scrapped that. "Dump him and move on, anything else?"

Wendy was staring at him as if he was a completely different person. Not that he was surprised, especially with how he first met her back at the mall. If she didn't want to see the bullshit he usually did, that was fine by him but she would have to bear the consequences.

"Where did that—? How—? I mean, what the hell?" Wendy gaped at him. "Where did you come up with all that?"

"A guy whose distracted from his girlfriend is always thinking about sex or another girl," he said. "I'm thinking about sex right now but I'm also taking the time to listen to you."

"Where is this coming from?" Wendy demanded. "Why are you being so—"

"I thought you said not to play dumb," he interrupted. "So I'm not playing dumb. Happy?"

"Not really," Wendy said quietly as she looked down at her feet. Rod didn't feel a bit of guilt at that. He didn't even think it was odd that he didn't feel any guilt in the first place.

"You don't want me playing dumb then when I don't, you don't like it," Rod scoffed. "Which do you want? Or how about what do you want? You want Stan, is that it?"

Wendy nodded, slightly intimidated by the change in Rod's personality. It was like he was lashing out at her. It stood to reason that since she hadn't known this side of him then she hadn't known him at all and her first impression about him had been wrong. She had prided herself on being a good judge of character but she couldn't bear the thought that she could have been wrong. She refused to admit that she had been wrong.

In hindsight, that had been a bad idea.

"You want Stan and you have him but you're having trouble keeping him," Rod sneered. Realizing how he was sounding, Rod stopped himself, cursing that he had lost his cool. Everything about today so far and thrown him off his game and now he was already showing Wendy who he was underneath all the kindness and superficiality. Just by looking at her, he could tell that he was losing her.

No, he couldn't lose her but at the same time he couldn't pounce on her either. They were still at school, too public to be honest. He could kidnap her but already he was in some deep shit and doing something like that would make him a suspect in Devin's murder. This was like home all over again, damn it.

Wait, maybe he could still work something out. Yeah…make her come to him. He could tell she was the type who could get angry if the right buttons were pressed and if he got her angry enough…

"Why don't you make him chase you?" he blurted out, looking away from her as if he was tired of looking at her. "You take away your pussy, he'll be crawling back to you, on hands and knees if he has to." He couldn't help but smirk at the stunned look she was giving him. "If you have to, break up with him. That'll get his attention."

Before he could say anymore, he frowned as he felt his cell vibrate in his pants pocket. Ignoring whatever Wendy might try to say to him, he pulled his phone out and opened the text message he found sent to him.

Get your ass home…called the school…mom? Oh fucking shit. He knew that this was coming but damn it, it had come at the worst possible time.

"Are you listening to me?" Wendy demanded. Obviously she had been talking while read his text. Things were falling apart.

Once again, they were interrupted as Mr. Mackey's voice came over the intercom. Of course, that may have been because they were outside the abandoned classroom at the back of the school right next to the band room and the abandoned window had been cracked open just enough for sound to escape.

_Would Rod Woods please come the office, m'kay? Rod Woods, to the office._

Shooting Wendy a glance, he said, "You heard the man."

Once again ignoring what the girl shouted after him, he stomped off knowing that he had just left the pan and entered the fire.

* * *

As the day came to a close, the citizens scurried off into their sanctuaries of safety to wait out the coming darkness that always came with the night. It wasn't any surprise to him that these normal, everyday residents valued the light that always shone from the windows of their homes, warming them in a cocoon of safety. He didn't begrudge any of them of that and if anything wanted to protect them from predators that dared to invade them.

It was why he kept doing what he did. If you thought about it, with the way he acted with others his own age you'd think he'd be like any of the people hurrying home. In reality, he was a denizen of the night, liked it more than anything daylight could offer.

The darkness of night could offer you protection if you knew how to use it and he indeed knew how. It didn't matter that he was currently perched on top of the unfinished construction site where he had engaged with some of humanity's worst offenders on many an occasion. From up here, he could see all of South Park and from what he could see, it was going to be another night that passed by uneventfully.

At least, that was to the untrained eye. Despite being a town, South Park was like any other town or city in the USA. Beneath its white and admittedly chaotic front, there was crime and illegalities. South Park was no exception to the decadence that could be found in any city in the world but where South Park differed was the fact that it had a guardian watching over it. One whose eyes were sharp and could analyze a scene within a matter of second, coming up with various conclusions and solving the mysteries of the night before dawn.

When the police couldn't handle it; when normal people were too paralyzed with fear to do anything; when all hope was shitted upon and flushed down society's crapper; that was where Mysterion came in.

Naturally as he grew older, he got better at what he did and expanded his expertise to include more serious offenses that only those that were criminally insane could accomplish. That was only natural; the more you did something, the better you got at it. Nevertheless, he took his sacred duty serious and even though he once had been part of a team of other heroes, they had long outgrown their other personals, sticking them back in the deep parts of the closet that were their minds.

Not him, though. Never him. His closet, in comparison to theirs was not even a walk-in. This identity he had created for himself was always there, glaring him in the face and he knew he could never put it away for good. Was it because he was trying to prove something to himself, prove that he wasn't as shallow as most people he knew thought he was? Maybe, maybe not, did it matter?

No, what mattered was that in the dark of night, South Park was still suffering and he would be damned if he didn't do his part to alleviate it.

That was why Mysterion was more than a household name like Toolshed or Mosquito. He cared about this town, knew he would never leave it no matter how much he wanted to so what else could he do but try and save the rotting, decaying soul that was this town?

He had his accomplishments. He had finally convinced the destructive Professor Chaos to give up his quest of vengeance and retire. He had faced the manipulative and depraved Coon on numerous occasions, always sending him back to Juvie for four to five week stints before they continued their dance all over again. He had even called the Dark Lord Cthulhu a pussy to his…its face and lived to tell the tale.

And now he was inserting himself into the midst of a new mystery, one that quite frankly was pretty simple to figure out. The problem was that his allies in law enforcement were having a difficult time and why wouldn't they? A murder where a girl is left on the side of the road, naked and only dirtied by the snow in which she lay and no clues from which to go from. He knew the story, knew the victim, and already had his prime suspect in mind.

However, what was needed was hard evidence. Circumstantial could work but nothing worked better than cold, hard evidence.

The police had none of that evidence and that left it up to Mysterion to find it.

There in lied his first hurdle. How was he going to get it? He was an expert (sort of) in criminology but you can only learn so much from the shitty South Park library. He didn't have any books of his own that he kept and since he was such a law-abiding vigilante, he would have to wait until ten o'clock in the morning before he could go in and get more information. Plus, he had never really been good at solving murders. Robberies, burglaries, grand plans to take over the world, graffiti, that was where his expertise lied.

But he wouldn't have gotten as far as he had if he didn't have other sources of information. Murder may not be his best subject but that didn't mean it wasn't others'. He knew where he needed to go but it was working up the spine to do it without beating this potential well of information to a bloody pulp. Eric Cartman, alias The Coon, would have been his first choice for such a thing but Cartman only killed when it meant causing the ultimate amount of damage to someone.

No, he needed someone else and he already had the name in mind. Sure this person wasn't officially in the Mysterion's rogue gallery yet but he counted on it being a matter of time.

Midnight was slowly approaching and he knew he was running out of time. It was almost his curfew and he really did need to get some sleep. He had a test tomorrow and Kyle usually got on him for staying up too late, "reading porn."

Without a thought, Mysterion leapt off his perch, his cape flapping behind him, and disappeared in the darkness below him.

* * *

It was tense when Rod returned home, his parents following him stiffly and not saying a word. Rod knew he was in some deep shit, especially since he had to spend the afternoon and most of the evening at the Park County Police Department.

He knew the two people behind him weren't happy. In fact, he would almost go as far as to say he was almost afraid of them. Almost because he was a man and men feared nothing but that didn't mean he didn't dread what was going to be said soon.

It came sooner than he thought.

"Robert. Sit down," he father ordered in a tone that made no room for argument. Rod recognized it and knew that even though he was larger than his father, in his head he was still a little boy looking for acceptance, the kind he would never get from his parents.

Obeying the order, he took a seat on the leather couch, the leather squeaking under his weight. His parents, meanwhile, did not sit down as they stood on the other side of the coffee table, giving him what looked to be looks of disappointment.

It had been quite some time since he had last seen these two in person. It was obvious that he hadn't inherited his height from his father who was shorter than his mother by a good six inches. Short blond hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and tanned skin like a surfer, that was the only things that stood out from this man other than his constant displeasure. His mother on the other hand had long brown hair that was styled, almost, into a kind of beehive and had the greenest eyes you ever did see. Usually she was always so loud with an annoying squeaky voice but none of that was obvious as she too scowled at him.

His eyes roamed over their fancy clothes, trying to not look at those faces that were making him uncomfortable. Huh, his mother's skirt was a bit longer than usual, he noted.

"I thought we were past this," his father's severe tone interrupted his thoughts. Rod lifted his uncharacteristically scared eyes back up to his father's rugged face where crystal blue eyes glared down at him. "What happened, Robert? Why are the police investigating us, _again_, and why is there another dead body that you were last seen with?"

"Are you doing this to get back at us?" his mother demanded, crocodile tears beading up in the corner of her eyes.

"Quiet, I'm talking," Rod's father interrupted, sending his wife a "shut the fuck up" look. "Robert?" he asked, looking back at him. "We just spent the whole day at the police station, covering your ass again. What the hell happened this time."

It wasn't asked as a question. Rod found himself shrinking under those gazes, no longer the confident young man that everyone saw him as. "It was an accident," he said softly. "She made me mad."

"Oh, so that makes it all okay?" his father mocked. "She makes you mad so you killed another one, huh? We can't keep doing this. Can you give me one good reason why we should throw more money away keeping you out of prison again? Do you expect us to protect you every time you get into trouble?"

"Where did we go wrong?" his mother fake-sobbed.

"You shut up," his father snapped at her again.

Anger was boiling within Rob, lessening some of the fear that was immobilizing him. This was always how it was, wasn't it? The sacrifices they were making to help him were just so demanding that he should kiss the very ground they stood on. They were hardly here as it was and yet they expected him to be the perfect son?

Not for the first time did he wonder that maybe the reason they had bought a house in South Park was just to keep him as far away from their friends and business buddies as possible.

"This is going to blow over," his father stated, his eyes back on him again. "Until then, I don't want you doing a single thing without my say-so, understand?"

"Yes," he said quietly, knowing his father heard him.

"Yes, what?" his father asked.

Peeved, Rod corrected himself. "Yes, _sir_."

"That's better," his father grunted. "We've moved once already; you're lucky that the company was opening a new branch down here or else we'd still be back in Oregon dealing with the mess you caused back there."

A mess you only made worse, he thought to himself. He had the urge to say he did better this time but that would only provoke his parents. While most people would have gone for it, he was cowed by their overbearing, read bossy, presence.

"Until further notice, you are going to stay here and not go out, understand?" his father instructed. "No parties, no driving around, you only leave for school, and that's it."

"Yes, _sir_," Rod grounded out, his hands balled into fists.

"At least we agree on that much," his father said idly. Looking back at his mother, he asked, "Shall we?"

"Of course," his mother said, no trace of tears anywhere. See? Just crocodile tears used to make him feel guilty.

"We'll be back in Denver," his father said. "If anything with the police comes up, you call me. Understand? Good." Not waiting for Rod to say anything, the man strolled out the front door, his mother trailing after him.

"You listen to your father, he only has your best interests in mind," his mother added before she too left.

That left Rod still on the couch, no longer fearful but incredibly pissed off. What gave those two the fucking right to come into his life and tell him what the hell to do where they were never here as it was? In his best interests, please, it was more like theirs!

When he was sure they were miles away, he stood up and swung his fist down into the coffee table, shattering the glass top in a single blow.

* * *

It was not often that he got sick and when he did, he usually had someone to blame for it. In this case, Bain blamed that fucking monkey at the zoo the previous day. It was only a twenty-four hour bug but he knew in his gut it was from that fecal matter. Oh, if he could only get his hands on that _monkey_.

In the meantime, he would use music to tame the savage beast within but none of the recent crap coming out that was called music. No, he was more a classical man and by classical, he meant the composers, the music writers of an age long forgotten by today's standards.

Bach (who was technically baroque), Beethoven, Mozart, Haydn, Strauss, Chopin, Brahms, and others of those kind. They were the masters, geniuses in their own right, and completely overlooked because of all those crappy rap "artists" and country singers.

Currently, he was listening to Bach's Brandenburg Concerto No. 3 in Allegro Moderato. It was a lively little tune, light and moderately energetic. Not one of his favorites, mind you, but it was soothing enough that on the spur of the moment, he had updated his long forgotten Facebook page.

_Listen' to Bach. Ohhh yeahh…_

He found himself humming to the tune, his eyes shut and taken off the book he had been amusing himself with. When the concerto, sadly, came to an end, he picked up the remote to the iHome he had and began skipping a few of the pieces that were randomly chosen by his iPod.

He came to a stop as the first notes of Mozart's Concerto for Flute and Harp in C Major echoed from the iHome's speakers and he set the remote down. Even though it wasn't a popular piece of Mozart's, it was nonetheless one of his favorites and every time he heard it, he would always have to set aside whatever he was doing so that he could tap out the piece with his fingertips on the closest flat surface to him.

Mozart, you magnificent bastard. He read your book!

Something disturbed him and when he was disturbed while listening to his favorite Mozart pieces, he tended to get a little knife happy because you did _not_ interrupt Mozart while he was playing damn it!

Winslow sped through the air but instead of hearing the pleasant sound of a sharp blade cutting through flesh, he heard the harsh sound of something catching the knife in midair. Whatever concentration he had for the flute and harp concerto was gone and he snapped open his eyes to glare at the intruder.

"Oh. It's you again. Haven't you grown out of that phase yet 'Mysterion'?"

And there was the disturbance. The cold air from outside was coming in through the window where the hooded and cloaked "superhero" sat perched on his window sill, Winslow's blade held tightly in a gloved hand.

How marvelous.

"I need information," "Mysterion" stated in that hoarse, gravely "voice" of his. Bain rolled his eyes at that but raised the iHome remote up so that he could pause the concerto. It didn't look like he would be listening to it anytime soon.

"What? No chitchat?" he mocked. "No threats? It's always down to business with you, isn't it?"

"We're not buddies, Bain," "Mysterion" interrupted. "We have our differences but right now I need your help."

"The only thing you would need my help for is for a close shave," Bain said dryly. "You know, the kind that usually results in a slit throat?"

"You're the expert on murders in this town," "Mysterion" continued as if he hadn't heard him. "Tell me everything you know about it."

"So you're interested in that whore's death, eh?" Bain commented, chuckling. "Well, at least I can say with a clean conscience that I had nothing to do with that one."

"I know," "Mysterion" agreed. "You were responsible for the previous principal's death and the freezing incident at school last semester."

"You say that with such ease but if you can't prove it was me, you can't accuse me of it," Bain shot back. "Besides, it's not what you can prove, it's—"

"—what you can prove in court, I saw that movie," "Mysterion" interrupted. "I'm not here for those. I'm here for the Devin Brasch murder."

"Of course you are," Bain agreed. "However, there's not much I can tell you. Yes, I discovered the body because I can pick out a corpse in the middle of a snowstorm but that's as far as my involvement in this case is. You want to know why someone would kill the little bitch but from what little information I have, I can't tell you. You see, murders are like people. There's billions of them and each one is different and unique. What goes for one murder doesn't necessarily apply to another, understand?"

"Then I am wasting my time here," "Mysterion" stated.

"What? Leaving so soon?" Bain scoffed. "I know we have our differences, 'Mysterion,' but allow me to say that this bothers me as much as it does you. So here's the deal: you get me the files on the investigation, everything from the autopsy, the evidence collected so far, and the suspects that have been considered and have been either kept or dropped. From that, I can reasonably give you the information you want out of me."

"Mysterion" looked at him coolly. "How can I trust that you will keep up your end of the bargain, Bain?"

"Look at me," Bain scoffed. "I'm sick and bedridden. Even if I try to refuse you, which I'm not, you can do your Batman wannabe torture tricks and there's nothing I can do to stop you. You can only benefit so why don't you take it?"

"Mysterion" stared at him, trading him look for look for what seemed like an eternity. Finally he nodded and in an instant, disappeared through the window, leaving it open and letting the cold air in. Bain glared after the "hero" and after some effort, he closed the window and got back into bed.

Starting the concerto back at the beginning, he closed his eyes and listened to the chords, tapping out the notes with his fingertips.

Looks like tonight was going to be a very _productive_ one…

* * *

Despite what had happened to her years ago, Roxi still made an effort to take walks late at night and no, it was not to try and catch sight of a mysterious vigilante who roamed the town.

At least, that's what she'd have you believe.

Who was the mysterious masked figure who had saved her back then? She didn't know but she wanted to find out in the same way Kenny McCormick tried to get into everyone's pants.

Persistently and shamelessly.

She shivered against the cold, not surprising as fall was heralding in winter's approach. Soon even the most weather-hardened of people would be seeking the warmth and comfort of the indoors and Roxi knew that this season of tracking down Mysterion would come to another fruitless end.

How hard would it be to find someone running around with their underwear on the wrong side, she had thought to herself when she had first started. Turns out very hard, especially since Mysterion always made an effort to remain mysterious. There were times she wondered why she kept doing this but ultimately, she would cast aside any doubts she had, at least for the night so she could go hunting.

Her motivation was a powerful one, one that would drive any woman or girl with a sex drive forward until they had achieved it.

Damn it, she wanted her Spiderman kiss!

You know, the kiss where the hero is hanging upside down, his mask peeled down so that his mouth was free, and it was also raining to make it that more romantic? That's what she fucking wanted and that's what she was fucking going to get.

She heard a whoosh nearby and her honed (read: paranoid) senses searched for the source. She didn't find anyone on the ground, disappointing her but when she looked straight up…

There was a guy's crotch covered in purple spandex and white briefs staring her right in the face for a mere second. It was a second, that's all she needed, where she found that she was back in the presence of that masked hero who she had been searching for for so long. Where was he going? What was he doing?

Whatever it was, it had to be important. She waited a moment before she saw the tail-end of a purple cape whip past a corner and took off after it. Tonight she was going to catch Mysterion and thank him in the only she could think would be the best way possible.

Was a thank you strip-tease too much?


	23. Natural Born Enemies

Author's Note: I have set a record with this fic. Not only is it my longest word count-wise, it has exceeded 200,000 words with this latest chapter, according to the site. Truly, it is a milestone and you guys get to experience it with me. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Natural Born Enemies

The thing about being a selfless vigilante was that you didn't have a lot of money on you. You did good deeds and handed down justice without any expectation of being rewarded. That was something that Eric Cartman could never wrap his mind around as he thought he only had to do one good deed or make up the most terrible crime imaginable and gain instant celebrity from it. It was why, as the Coon, he was better off as a villain and not the hero he always saw himself as.

Meanwhile, as Mysterion, he fought crime only to make the world a little bit better. Getting scumbags off the street as well as enforcing the smaller laws made him feel better and allowed him to rest easier when he went to sleep. It was the fact that he was cleaning the world up, one crime, no matter how small, at a time.

But now that he was involved with solving a murder, he was in a different ballpark. The fact that he had to acquire assistance from Bain Cynis of all people made his stomach churn but he needed the expertise that someone like that psychopath had and the only way to do it was to steal a copy of the case file and bring it to him.

He could get into police headquarters, no problem. The problem was finding all the relative information Bain had requested. Odds were there was one file on the whole case, a file that had multiple copies for all the detectives working on it. It most likely summed up everything they had found out and all he needed to do was get one of those copies.

Here's to hoping that he didn't get shot while in the line of duty.

* * *

Roxi didn't understand why Mysterion was heading to the police station of all places. Was he there to report a crime? But why? He was a hero! He stopped crimes!

Or maybe he had just stopped a crime and was going to the police in person to report it? But couldn't he use a phone from the scene of the crime instead? Roxi didn't really think about such things and it was making her head hurt a bit.

How much did she know about that guy? In her opinion, he saved her so that made him a good guy. There was no two ways about it. How could he be bad anyway?

From her post, she watched with narrowed eyes, just barely making out the shape of her heroic idol entering the police station through a window. If she didn't know better, she'd say he was breaking it, which was ridiculous. Mysterion wasn't the type to do a common B n' E. And in a police station no less! Unless he was like Batman but from what she seen in the movies, Batman only broke into police station to give information to that Gary Oldman guy.

The mystery of Mysterion seemed to be deepening…

Oh damn it, she made a pun just now, didn't she?

Damn it, she was more the action type, not the thinking kind! That was the reason why she had been taking that walk the night she had first moved here. It was the reason why she had been approached by those rapists. It was the reason why Mysterion had come to her rescue and saved her. She was determined; she was going to go in there and follow him.

As she braced herself, getting ready for a quick dash across the street, her destination the very window Mysterion had slipped in through, she heard a whoosh and the sound of something landing nearby.

Of course, it had been quiet and subtle and she would have dismissed it readily had that voice not speak up and stop her cold.

"What are you doing out this late?" an unmistakable, gravelly voice asked from behind her.

Roxi jumped and spun around, staring in shock at a dark figure that was standing only a few feet away from her. If the hood and cape hadn't been a sign of who this was, the bobbing question mark that wobbled from a curled spring on the top of his head gave him away.

"Mysterion," she said in a hushed voice.

"You should go home. It's not safe being out this late at night." Mysterion stated. He was calm, matter-of-fact, and so naturally cool that Roxi almost swooned. Almost. She had her girl pride and swooning was only to be done in the privacy of her home. Girl code, article 15, subsection F.c., clause 2.

Apparently unaware of her thoughts, Mysterion turned his back towards her, preparing to leave. "You need to take better care of yourself. What happens if you get caught by another group of rapists and I'm not there? Go home where it's safe. It would mean a lot to me."

"Wait!" she cried out, stretching out an arm as if to try and grab him.

"What?" he demanded gruffly.

"I…I have searching for you for all this time," she admitted, lowering her arm and scuffling a foot like a shy school girl. "You saved me back there…and all I've ever been able to do is think about is you."

"So you went on walks late at night, looking for me," Mysterion finished up for her. "I am well aware of that."

"You were?" she asked, dumbfounded. You mean to tell her that he knew she had been looking for him and yet had not once made contact with her?

"Yes. I followed you every now and then," Mysterion stated. "You attract a lot of trouble by merely walking around. I couldn't let you do any of that vulnerable."

So…he had not only been aware but had followed her around, protecting her? Her heart was fluttering in her chest, shocked and awed at this bit of information. It was so unexpected yet it spoke to the inner romantic that she fought to suppress daily.

"That is why I want you to stay home at night from now on," Mysterion ordered. "Stop trying to follow me around. I appreciate whatever gratitude you may have but just the knowledge that at least there is one more person safe is all I need. Go home Roxann. If not for yourself, then for me."

He made to leave again but she stopped him for more time. "Wait! Can't…can't I know who you are? I walk around in school, wondering if you are going to the same place as I am. Do you even go to South Park High? How am I suppose to know who to be grateful to if I don't know what you look like under the mask?"

"I thought you knew," Mysterion said, not facing her, "the number one rule of being a masked hero is to never reveal your secret identity to anyone, no matter who you are. Also, I unveiled myself to the public once before. Everyone in town already knows who I am, you could ask them. I am still the same Mysterion now as I was then. Your friends, Wendy and Mari already know, you could ask them."

This…this moment was going pretty bad, wasn't it? This was not going the way she had always dreamed it would. Wasn't she ever going to get her Spiderman kiss?

"I'd rather hear it from you," she stated bluntly, willing herself to hold her ground and not give up her position.

She didn't see Mysterion's face as it was still turned away from her but had she, she would have seen a sad smirk twisting his lips. "Then I'm afraid you will never know."

"Never say never," she declared.

"If you say so," Mysterion said. "By the way, just so you don't get your hopes up: I don't give Spiderman kisses."

Something shattered, Roxi couldn't tell what it was but she knew that it just shattered. Was it that one particular daydream she had with the Spiderman kiss?

"You're not the first to request it and I'm sure you won't be the last," Mysterion said, flinging out a small bushel of firecrackers that exploded menacingly in front of her, taking her sight off him for the instant that he needed to vanish once more.

As she looked around wildly, searching for the dark-clothed figure that was long gone, she knew only one thing. She was going to prove him wrong.

Goddamn it, she was going to get that kiss whether he liked it or not!

* * *

"My, my, you've outdone yourself," Bain praised as his eyes devoured line after line of text. "Now we're getting somewhere."

"Enough talk," "Mysterion" grunted. "What have you found out?"

"Patience, vigilante," Bain chided, now taking his eyes off the case file. "This takes time and first of all, I have to read it. Otherwise I won't be able to tell you a thing."

"I'll wait then," "Mysterion" said as he leaned against the closed window.

"This will take a while," Bain warned. "Why don't you go back out there and do your crime-fighting nonsense or whatever it is that you do."

"I've finished my patrol," "Mysterion" replied. "I can stay for however long it will take."

"Do you also brush your teeth at bedtime?" Bain snarked. Ooh, that was an interesting tidbit right there… "I swear, you take the so-called law-abiding vigilante to an extreme. Aren't you technically violating the law doing what you do? Assault and battery. Breaking and entering. Public indecency." At that last one, he took his eyes off the file and looked pointedly at "Mysterion's" briefs.

"It's called a citizen's arrest," "Mysterion" shot back. "And bounty hunters get away with it all the time, ever get their own TV shows."

"Right, the Dog," Bain agreed mindlessly, his attention back onto the file. In particular, he was going through the autopsy report. "I was right, it was strangulation. Hmm, whoever did it had to be strong. He crushed the larynx."

"He?" "Mysterion" questioned.

"Fair enough, it could have been a 'she,'" Bain allowed though he wrinkled his nose at the last word as if the very word itself disgusted him. "Still, the chafed wrists implies she was restrained at some point, still breathing I'm sure. A lot of bruising but not all of it done by hand? So she was assaulted by something other than a fist? A belt perhaps?"

"She was restrained and tortured?"

"Maybe," Bain hummed. "Wait a minute, that's an interesting bit."

"What is?"

"Tearing of the inner vaginal canal? Induced trauma? Someone was rough. Definitely signs of sexual assault. At least now we have a motive."

"The perpetrator raped her and then strangled her to keep her from telling anyone." Not liking having to give credit to an idiot in purple spandex, Bain grudgingly agreed with "Mysterion's" guess.

Not wanting to admit he was thinking the same thing, Bain skimmed ahead, something catching his eye. "No presence of seminal fluid? What? That's impossible in a rape."

"There wasn't any semen?"

Bain read through the rest of the autopsy then skimmed back through it again, reading and re-reading it as quickly as he could before it came to him. "Clever bastard," he murmured. "After he killed her, he cleaned her up. Wiped off any incriminating evidence on her skin but he didn't stop there. He went as far as to douche her and clean out her insides as well."

"No DNA," "Mysterion" concluded.

"Certainly," Bain agreed, "but you do know what this means, correct? Our perp has done this before, at least enough times to go to these lengths."

"Another serial killer?" "Mysterion" said.

"And you thought you had it bad with me," Bain chuckled. "Yes, we're a different breed alright." Bain paused, eyes widened slightly as he realized what he had just said. Damn it, he had just admitted…never mind. Even though "Mysterion" looked too immersed in this case, Bain didn't believe for a second that "Mysterion" hadn't heard him. Knowing the bastard, he probably had a recording device on him. That is, if he had saved up enough money for one.

He'd act on the assumption "Mysterion" had heard him and worry about the worst case scenario later. If anything, he could use his aid as a bargaining chip to get him to leave this one alone. Cursed Freudian slips.

"Still, she wasn't completely clean," he said out loud. "They found a few fibers, most likely from a blanket. The fibers won't be of much help if they don't have the blanket. Since our perp is the learning kind, it seems, he'd probably has either thrown it out or destroyed it."

"I'll check out the dumpsters in town," "Mysterion" began. Bain took great pleasure in interrupting him.

"Don't bother, the trucks have already been through. That blanket is long gone. In the meantime, let's see what leads South Park's Finest have been able to find."

Setting the autopsy section aside, he began going through the thickest part of the file. He went over the discovery portion of the file, skimming over some information since he already knew it, searching for something he hadn't. There was little if anything, telling the sociopath that there were few clues at the dumping site.

On to the suspects then.

"You're going through that fast," "Mysterion" commented.

"I know that part already, I was there," he said absently. "Not a lot of evidence and little to no new information. Only Charlotte and my statements there and I know what I said then. Only a few background checks on us and a little note that eliminates us from the suspect pool."

"You're proud of that, aren't you?" "Mysterion" stated testily.

"Only you seem to have a problem with it," Bain countered.

"What I have a problem with is that I know you've been breaking the law and the police have yet to accuse you of anything," "Mysterion" said coldly.

"You're jumping to conclusions," Bain said dismissively. "Besides, you'd have to get through Charlotte if you're going to try and have me arrested. It's one of her greatest fears, you know. Now that's an interesting question to ask; tell me, would you like to see the look of betrayal she'll have on her face when she finds out? Both you and I know how violent she can get."

"What she feels…and what is right are two different things," "Mysterion" grunted, looking away from Bain.

"Perhaps but sometimes what is right isn't what is legal," Bain said. For some reason he wanted the last word. "You're living proof. Vigilantism is against the law, isn't it? Yet you do it again and again, every single night or almost every single night. Remember, laws are fallible, just like what our beliefs involving what is right and what is wrong are. We as humans are imperfect creatures."

He got no answer from that which led him to smirk. But…why did it feel hollow? He'd given another one of his psychological strikes, something few people were able to counter. Successfully at least. Was it because he had been expecting more from an adversary like "Mysterion"?

No, that didn't sound right…

Eh, he was probably just out of it.

As he continued reading, something caught his eye. It wasn't something very noticeable and he probably would have missed it altogether. Then again, you'd have to be a six year old child not to be able to catch on to the scrawl that was in the margin.

He narrowed his eyes and took a good look at both the margin and the section he was reading. His blood began to boil, not in excitement but in anger. Fortunately, he had a target nearby that he could use to express himself with.

"Looks like you fucked up again," he snarled at the wannabe hero. Much to his ire, "Mysterion" didn't bat an eye or raise a hidden eyebrow. This pissed him off more to the point that he practically yelled at the vigilante, only remembering to keep his voice low at the last second. "Get your ass back to the station. There's one more thing you need to pick up."

"I'm not going back," "Mysterion" stated.

"Is that so?" Bain mocked. "Then perhaps you don't want to see the recording of Mr. Woods' interview? It was done today, probably concluded only a couple hours ago. It wouldn't be put into the case file until all the relevant information was taken from it and put up against the information already gathered. I know he's on your suspect list you pathetic excuse for a 'hero' and I bet his reactions during that interrogation would go a long way to either clear or incriminate him. Do I have to spell it out any further?"

"That is the longest you have ever spoke to me," "Mysterion" replied, knowing that it would piss him off further. "Don't get your panties in a bunch; I'll go get that interview."

"You'd better," Bain growled as "Mysterion" left. "And don't forget to close the…fuck you all the way to hell," he grumbled as once again he was stuck with an open window.

* * *

It was his first night on Earth since forever and Damien found himself to be incredibly bored. A demonic being like himself didn't require sleep, or at least the amount that humans needed to remain healthy.

Curse his father to the farthest reaches of Hell. Damn it, he forgot, his father had already been to the farthest reaches. He couldn't use that curse. Damn it, he didn't want to be up on Earth with supervision. He wanted to be free to do as he pleased and pay a special visit to a certain someone. Unfortunately, that talisman his father had given to his babysitter was much too powerful for him to overcome. What was it made of? The holiest enamel of the holiest of angels?

Who would have thought? He was bored in the one place that he always wanted to go. As mortals say, it sucked balls. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. He wasn't supposed to be going to school. He wasn't supposed to be on the end of a leash with his father's current favorite for an entire Earth year.

The only way he could keep his eye out on the prize that he so craved was to look through Cerberus' eyes. Oh yes, there had been more than one purpose he had been fulfilling by giving Kyle that three-headed hound. Not only was Cerberus there to keep his pet safe and to keep others from getting to close but he was in place so that whenever Damien felt like it, he could peer through the hellhounds' eyes and see the vision of his redheaded pet.

There he was, all asleep with his Jew dreams. Damn, if only there wasn't such a physical distance between them.

What was it he could do to get around Charlotte or Charlie or whatever the hell she called herself? For some reason, she had eagle eyes and she always seemed to be aware of where he was at or what he was doing. He had lost patience earlier and had demanded to know how she was doing that.

In reply, she simply said that she was hyperaware of the doings of homicidal maniacs and assholes. The way she smiled when she said it though, it caught his interest. She was thinking of someone when she had said it and it was possible that he might be able to use it to his advantage.

Just who was it that made her smile like that? Whoever it was just might be the key to the mortal girls' undoing…

* * *

"You're back," Bain grunted. "I was beginning to wonder if you had decided to go home."

"Not until I understand everything," "Mysterion" stated, a CD case in hand.

"As you wish," Bain replied. "Bring me my laptop. We'll watch the interview with it."

"Mysterion" gave him a bland look for a moment but obeyed anyway. As soon as the coveted laptop was, well, on his lap, Bain quickly started it up and opened the DVD player. Taking the case, he took the CD out placed it on the small tray that stuck out of the computer and pushed it in. Bringing up the media player, Bain waited until the picture came up before he hit the play button.

With the exception of the laptop, no one made a sound. The two enemies devoted their attention to the images playing on the monitor, listened well to the questions that were asked and how they were answered. Every once in a while, Bain would smirk as he recognized an interrogation technique, slightly in awe of the effectiveness of them. However, he also knew how the interviewers thought and behaved and he knew that while the two detectives would have caught most signs of lying, there would be a few that slipped past them.

If there was one thing that was dependable, it was that Yates and Murphy would do whatever it took to solve a case quickly so that they could go back to watching television.

"He's lying," "Mysterion" spoke up.

"Oh really? I couldn't tell," Bain said sarcastically. "What makes you say that he's lying? Isn't he there to tell the truth and nothing but the truth?"

"Mysterion" gave him a look, one that was saying if he had his mind in the right place. He was probably wondering why he was suddenly sticking up for their prime suspect but really, Bain loved playing devil's advocate.

It was a neat way to tease out unnecessary details and plus he loved fucking with other people's minds.

"He's been lying throughout the interrogation," "Mysterion" explained. Oh yeah, like Bain hadn't figured that one out yet. "I've noticed that he does the most lying when he leans his weight on the left side of his body, like he's doing there." He pointed a gloved finger at the figure of Rod who was currently resting an arm, his left arm, on the table. "Whenever he tells the truth, he lifts the weight off that part of his body. He's done it about five times already."

Bain blinked then frowned. Stopping the interview, he moved it back much to "Mysterion's" ire and rewatched some of it, cursing at how he missed it. Damn it, and here he was with the home field advantage and that masked asshole has to one-up him. He growled as he let the interview resume where they had left off and continued.

"_So after you leave the dance, you take her to your home, right? And you say you made out. Correct?"_

"_Yes."_

"_Anything else? Did you just stop at first base or what? You can't tell me you didn't go all the way with her."_

"_We didn't get that far. I…I had to use the bathroom in the middle of it and that kinda killed the mood."_

"_Number one or number two?"_

"_Two."_

"_I don't know about that. I hear there're girls out there who are into that shit."_

Both of them groaned at the unintentional pun.

"_Devin wasn't one of them."_

"_Naturally. So what did you do after the mood was killed?"_

"_Watched some TV. Got late. I asked if she wanted me to take her home but she told me she'd walk. That was the last I heard of her until I heard her body had been found."_

"_Yeah, makes you feel real guilty, huh? Enough that you might want to stop bullshitting me and tell me the truth? Come on, you piece of shit! Confess!"_

"_What the fuck? You can't fucking talk to me like that!"_

"_Oh! Oh! You're going to play that way? That's fine! Bring it on! I can take whatever you can dish out!"_

"_How about the name of my lawyer? I bet he'd be real interested in hearing about this."_

"_You sound like you've been through this before. Have you ever been in trouble before kid? It's okay, we all make mistakes."_

"_What the…? What are you, bipolar or something?"_

"A bit crude but nicely done," Bain commented out loud, wincing slightly.

"What?" "Mysterion" asked, not taking his eyes off the laptop.

"Classic interrogation technique," Bain grumbled. "Switch the topic back to something you already went over but ask the question in a slightly different way. If you're telling the truth, your answer doesn't change. If you're lying, your answer changes to fit the re-asked questioned."

"You read a lot, I bet," "Mysterion" replied.

Bain shot another glare at the hero while wondering how he knew that was how he was going to answer if the hero had asked him how he knew about that technique. The fact that someone could outdo him mentally rankled him like nothing else.

"His story doesn't add up, in more ways than one," he stated. "He left the dance at nine or so yet according the autopsy, she was dead sometime between midnight and one in the morning. He says she left sometime after eleven, and on her own which most girls on dates do not do, especially a girl like her. That's not enough time to get her wrists and her ankles as chafed up as they were. Second, if she was attacked, it would've had to be done outside. That would explain the bruising but the sexual assault, the restraints, the cleaning of the body, and finally the dumping of the body in one to two hours? Doesn't add up."

"Missing time," "Mysterion" agreed. "It would make more sense if he had been the one to do it as soon as they arrived back at his house."

"For the sexual assault and the actual murder, yes," Bain said. He leant his head against a propped up hand, his thumb curving around his chin and two fingers cupping his cheek. "Also, if someone had attacked her outside, they would have left the body in the same location as the assault. Most perpetrators of that kind of crime do not move their victims to different locations. Serial killers and common murderers on the other hand do."

"So what now?" "Mysterion" asked. "Bring this inform—"

"It's not of value," Bain interrupted. "Both you and I know that our speculations are not hard evidence. They are theories and for all intents and purposes, it could have happened just like Mr. Woods said despite the improbability of it. A good reason to explain that away is that she left earlier and he's trying to cover a sexual encounter that did result in intercourse, thus providing a reason why his DNA would be on her."

"But why not admit it now? Why hide it when it could clear him?" "Mysterion" mused.

"Because then it'll get into personal territory," Bain grinned at the screen. "I've always had the thought that Mr. Woods here is into the domination scene. BDSM. The type of thing a lot of people would like to keep secret. And before you ask, I've had that idea just by looking at all the other girls that I know he's fucked. Each one has the same markings on their wrists as the murder victim had. In fact, it would take one of them to admit what he does behind closed doors and they have him close to or at the scene of the crime, wherever it may be."

"In his house," "Mysterion" said. "It's the only place he could do such things and with privacy."

"Private except for the fact that his parents are there," Bain considered. "Hmm, I wonder where his parents have been all this time? In all the time our pretty boy has been here, I haven't seen hide nor hair of them. Very peculiar."

"They could be so loaded up with work that they spend most of their time at the office," "Mysterion" pointed out.

"Indeed," Bain murmured in agreement. "Well, I believe that settles it. The only way to find out more is to investigate more of Rod Woods' past. In particular, what he was up to before he moved to town."

"How do you intend on doing that?" "Mysterion" questioned. "Databases?"

"I could but I find it more enlightening to go to a person's place of origin," Bain replied. "Pack your bag, 'hero', we're going to Oregon."

"What?" "Mysterion" deadpanned.

"I need your particular skills," Bain said dismissively. "I have a feeling we'll have to break in to a few places and someone with questionable morals, such as yourself, will be needed."

"No," "Mysterion" stated quietly. "I won't leave the town unguarded for an indeterminate amount of time."

"Oh, but you sought _my_ help if I recall correctly," Bain taunted. "You want anymore, you come with me. And if costs are what you're worried about, don't. This little expedition will be funded and sponsored by our prime suspect, Rod Woods." Revealing the credit card he had taken at the zoo, he said, "Never give a teenager your credit card. They tend to be so irresponsible."

* * *

Kyle had been exhausted when he had arrived at school that morning. For one thing, he spent most of the night awake, waiting for Damien to show up like he usually did and… Ahem, anyway, he waited but all he got was a no show.

That guy, that _demon_, had some sort of hold on him, the Jew could feel it. It was like every time he thought about doing anything that would end this relationship-whatever the hell it was, something would stop him or change his mind. He couldn't figure it out, not even with his above average intelligence.

And quite frankly, that's all he had.

That and an overtly cheerful blond who he was seeking out in the stead of his usual clique. Gary had to be around here somewhere; he had stood up Stan and Kenny to look for this unnaturally happy asshole so he'd better fucking appreciate this!

It took some time tracking the taller blond down but when he finally did, he saw the Mormon apparently giving some kind of pep talk to a familiar looking girl. For some reason, vomit came to mind and whenever vomit came to mind, Stan was not far from his thoughts. Well, whatever, so the girl made him think of Stan. What of it? He had something more important to do. At the same time he didn't want to intrude because, hey, the girl found Gary first and she was entitled to whatever bit of wisdom Gary had for her.

He'd drag his feet then. That should give them, what, an extra minute?

Well, it was starting to look like more than just a minute now. How would he know that? Well, maybe it had to do with the fact that his feet wouldn't lift off the ground, no matter how hard he tried to lift one of them. What explanation could there be to explain this other than—

"What do you think you're doing Kyle?" Damien breathed into his ear. How had the guy snuck up on him? Kyle had to immediately berate himself; Damien snuck up on him all the time, it was not a question of how anymore. "I distinctly remember telling you not to go near that person."

"He's a friend," Kyle stated in defiance. "You weren't here for the longest time and the other guys had their own lives. I had to talk to somebody."

"Why not any of the other sinners in this place?" Damien's voice turned into a hiss as he spun the Jew around, his hands gripping Kyle's shoulders quite tightly. "You have so many to choose from and I am confident that none of them would be able to steal you away from me."

"What? You're afraid he's going to steal me away?" Kyle asked dryly. Normally, he wouldn't have been so bold but things had changed…somewhat. With the knowledge that Damien was no longer able to use the worst of his powers, all thanks to Kenny's Lottery Ticket, he was being braver than usual. Whether braver was actually stupider was up for debate.

"Hmm, it appears you've gotten some spine into you since I've been gone," Damien purred as he brought him close. "It's oddly arousing…but I still prefer you paralyzed with fear. There's nothing more beautiful."

Oh. Right. That was a reason why he didn't try to be assertive. Damien, strangely enough, found rebellion quite appealing and in more ways than one. Crap.

"However, it does not excuse the fact that you've been ignoring one of my orders," Damien said, the teasing vanishing. "I don't like to be disobeyed, Kyle. It makes me want to hurt people. A lot of people. And punish. Specifically, punish you."

"As long as it's not life-threatening or psychologically scarring, I don't think there's anything wrong with that," Gary said, looking at the two of them with a friendly smile.

"Who cares about your opinion," Damien spat at the Mormon. Then he did a double-take. Kyle did too. When had Gary stopped talking with that girl (the name Kyra kept popping up in Kyle's head for some reason) and approached them? Neither of the two had been aware of his approach and he was bigger than either of them!

Gary shrugged at the Antichrist, not verbally replying to him yet saying a lot with just that one gesture. Damien growled, literally growled, at the blond interloper and spun Kyle around, wrapping an arm around the Jew's shoulders and the other around his torso, imprisoning the redhead against his body.

"Back off, goody-goody," Damien snarled. "He's mine."

No exclamation point needed there; a period so much more…

Gary held up his hands like he was surrendering or perhaps he was showing that he meant no trouble. Kyle couldn't figure which of the two it was and opting for figuring it out later.

"I'm not trying to take your boyfriend away," the blond said. "You're both in a relationship, I respect that. It's not my hobby to go around and break couples up you know."

"You could have fooled me," Damien sneered. "That answer is what I would have expected from a goody-good. Good, ha! There is nothing 'good' about good people, especially since deep down beneath the surface they are just as rotted and decayed as any 'evil' person. Good is nothing but a delusion that is used to justify bad deeds."

"That's a bleak way to look at it," Gary blinked innocently.

"Bleak? Maybe but that does not change the fact that it's true," Damien spat. "Look at the figures that you consider 'good'. They preach to others how to live their lives but do they practice what they preach? No and when it comes out that they are just as _mortal_ and _fallible_ as the rest of you talking pieces of meat, everyone is shocked and appalled."

"You must have had a hard life," Gary said gently, going off in a different direction it seemed.

"Didn't you hear what I said?" Damien growled, tightening his grip on Kyle he winced as Damien's sharp nails began to pierce through his jacket. Just a little bit more and it would be skin those nails would tear into.

He was not looking forward to that.

"I did," Gary said, cutting Damien off before he could continue. "But hearing it makes me feel sad. Do you maybe want to talk about it? I know it may not seem like it will help but sometimes just saying it out loud makes it less of a burden, you know?"

"What do you want?" Damien demanded quietly, his eyes narrowing. "Is it…Kyle? Do you want him for yourself?"

"Kyle's my friend and I would be glad to share his friendship with anybody," Gary said warmly.

"Uh guys? I'm right here, remember?" Kyle said uneasily.

"A likely story," Damien said, ignoring the redhead. "I know your kind. You sound like you're willing to sacrifice but when it comes down to it, it's all a front. You'll show your true colors all in good time. Until then, stay away from Kyle. He's mine, mine alone."

"That doesn't sound very healthy," Gary said in concern. "That's a bit overly possessive. Kyle's a human being and has the right to live his life just as much as you and I."

"I know he's human and that's what makes him so frail," Damien retorted though his grip on Kyle lessened a bit. It was now on the verge of being a gentle squeeze but hey, that was progress. "That's why he's needs someone to look after him. Someone who can take what this world can throw at him and endure them."

"I'm sure Kyle would be able to handle it," Gary said.

"Handle what? Cars, tornados, the apocalypse, Mecha-Streisand?" Damian listed. "Oh wait, you were thinking about things like heartbreak and spats between friends and parents, weren't you? Your mortal mind thinks so small."

"You're right, I wasn't thinking about those," Gary admitted. "But hasn't he endured similar things? There was that one time those actors brought Mecha-Streisand back and he survived it just fine."

"There was also the end of the American-Canadian War and the film festival Mr. Hanky got rid of," Kyle pointed out, tired of being forgotten about.

"Whose side are you on?" Damien asked him suspiciously.

"No one's! Just mine!" Kyle exclaimed as he squirmed in Damien's hold. "You can let go of me now, you know."

"I don't want to," Damien pouted, sticking his bottom lip out as he buried his face into the crook of Kyle's neck.

Nearby, Cartman walked by and saw the whole thing. Obviously forgetting about just who Damien was, he called out, "Fags!"

Damien's head snapped up from Kyle's shoulder, glaring at the fattening teen, his red eyes glowing malevolently. The next thing anyone knew, Cartman was flying backwards through the air…about five feet before he hit the tiled floor and skidded against it for a dozen or so feet.

Frowning, Damien remarked, "Funny. He should have gone further than that."

"I take my eyes off you for five minutes and already you're getting into trouble," Charlie White spoke up, interrupting the confrontation between the two extremes of good and evil, pulling Damien off of Kyle easily. "That's the last time I agree to let you come to school without me," she grumbled as she dragged the Antichrist away.

"Curse that talisman," Damien snarled as his powers weakened. "Curse it all the way to Hell!"

"It's already been there. Who do you think gave it to me?" Charlie shot back as the two disappeared around the corner.

Both Kyle and Gary stared at the spectacle, neither saying a thing. Gary ultimately broke it by clearing his throat.

"He seemed like a lively guy," he said cheerfully. "So that's Damien huh? He wasn't as bad as I thought he was going to be."

Kyle gave the Mormon a look but refused to say anything. Didn't think Damien was bad? Moses, the guy was something else.

* * *

"Damn it, I feel like a truck ran over me," Cartman moaned pathetically. "Did anybody get that license plate number? I'm going to sue that guy's ass!"

It didn't take long for him to figure out that he was alone and talking to himself and when he did figure that out, he scowled as he shoved himself up so that he was sitting on the floor instead of laying on it.

"Oh come on! Where the hell is everybody?" he complained.

Nearby, Brianna passed by and raised an eyebrow at the fat teen. "What are you doing? "Is this some kind of new fad you're trying to start?"

Cartman snapped his head upwards to look at the girl, practically beaming at her. It was not because he hadn't been seeing her around lately or that he missed arguing with her or anything girly like that, nope, not him! He was just…er…he was…glad…to…see she was nearby? Yeah, that sounded about right.

"Help me," he whined as he held his arms up to her. "I've fallen and I can't get up!"

Brianna stared at him for a moment. "Sorry. Too much work."

"Ay! Stop being a lazy asshole and help meh up!" Cartman bellowed.

"I'm not lazy, I'm pacing myself," Brianna sniffed back at him, nose up in the air. "The amount of energy it would take to help you up equals about the same amount it would take to make it to lunch. Given the choice of expending twice the usual amount of energy that it takes to get through the morning or choosing to go about my usual routine, I'd go with the latter."

Cartman stared at her, not really comprehending what she was saying. Finally, he blurted out, "You just made that shit up!"

"Eh, you're right," Brianna shrugged. "It sounded like I knew what I was talking about, didn't it?"

"You are so full of shit, I surprised it's not leaking out of your ears," Cartman grumbled and he pushed himself off the floor, rising up slowly so that he didn't lose his balance.

"There, you're back on your feet," Brianna pointed out. "You're welcome, no need to thank me."

Once again Cartman stared at her but this time he figured out just what she was talking about this time. "You little whore. You fucking tricked me!"

"Whatever makes you sleep better at night," Brianna said as she started walking away. "Peace."

"Ay! Don't 'peace' me out like a fucking hippie!" Cartman yelled as he stomped off after her. "Where do you think you're going? Get your skinny ass back here so I can kick it back to the kitchen where it belongs! Don't you flip me off, ho!"


	24. Epic Mindfucks

Author's Note: This is the chapter where I change all the rules. If you think you know what's going to happen, check out the title of this chapter. Some of this was done literally as I was writing it out so a couple things that happened were not planned. Spur of the moment, how I love thee. A big shout out to MrMissMrs Random, ShadowMajin, and –Beyond The Horizon- for marking with me the first story that has gone over 200,000 words. I'll dedicate this chapter to your three memories because I betting someone is going to die from reading this. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or Savage Garden's _I Knew I Loved You_.

Warning: language, adult situation

Epic Mindfucks

One of the things Bain had been glad to take with him on this trip had been that lovely Ipod that he had received for a birthday who knows how long ago. So far it was the only thing that was keeping him from going on a homicidal rampage, which would not be the healthiest thing he could do as he was in a flying tube that was 28,000 feet up in the air.

It had started with the fact that "Mysterion" over here had refused to take off his disguise. Ridiculous, especially since he already knew the identity that was beneath that mask. Honestly, who in South Park didn't know who it was beneath "Mysterion's" mask? They'd have to be so mentally deficient that they would require being in some kind of institution. However, if "Mysterion" here had no shame and ignored all the looks he was getting, Bain would just sit farther away from him in some crude attempt to say he was not with him.

The second thing to really start grinding his nerves had been the TSA. Actually, that experience had been a bit creepy. In one way or another, each TSA employee had looked exactly like that disgruntled bus driver back in South Park, and that included the women as well. The sneers, the looks of disgust, and the abuse of power, all were hallmarks of that damn bus driver.

After seeing some poor, unfortunate soul be dragged away screaming by two agents, one of whom was snapping on a long, latex glove, Bain had begun to have reservations about this.

Maybe he could just turn around, go back home, and try to find anything about Mr. Woods on his computer. Sure it would amount to nothing but at least he wouldn't be left to the mercy of these…_people_.

Finally, after a few traumatizing experiences that he would repress for the sake of his battered psyche, he was on a plane heading into the middle of no man's land and with a still miraculously masked vigilante in the seat right next to him. How "Mysterion" got through the TSA unharmed, Bain didn't know but he was instantly jealous of it.

So to distract himself, a mix of Mozart and Beethoven ought to calm him down some. Music tames the savage beast indeed; he of all people knew how true that saying was. As the chords of a piano lulled him into lethargy, beside him "Mysterion" shifted in his seat as if bubbling with repressed energy.

"What are you listening to?" "Mysterion" asked in that raspy voice of his.

Purposefully, Bain ignored him as best as he could though he couldn't help the bridge of his nose scrunching up in irritation. Mozart, Beethoven, work your magic.

"Mind if I listen?" "Mysterion" asked.

Bain clutched the armrests on either side of him. Already his knuckles were turning white from the pressure he exerted.

"Mysterion" did not huff nor did he do anything to show his own annoyance. Instead, he reached over and plucked out one of the earbuds and put it into his own ear. Bain's eyes snapped open and he glared at the hero.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growled. If only he could have snuck in Winslow through the TSA. Alas, those idiots were too good at their jobs and their disgruntlement showed it.

"Anything else other than classical shit?" "Mysterion" asked as he picked up the Ipod and skipped through the songs.

"Give me—" Bain began to snarl, reaching an arm out to reclaim his stolen device, only to pull up as something that was definitely not a piano or anything remotely classical came out of the ear buds. In fact, it sounded just like a keyboard…

_I knew I loved you before I met you_

_I think I dreamed you into life_

_I knew I loved you before I met you_

_I have been waiting all my life_

Bain paled with every word that was sung by Darren Hayes but as much as he was screaming at himself to snatch up his Ipod from a frozen "Mysterion," he just couldn't force him limbs to move.

"Mysterion" moved first and that was to take a look at the small screen that showed the name of the song, who it was by, and from what album it came from.

"Savage Garden?" "Mysterion" smirked. "I never took you as the type of guy to like this shit. All along, you've been a soft pussy behind that homicidal exterior of yours."

"Then let me remind you," Bain grounded out through his teeth, "that I only need my bare hands around your neck and sufficient _pressure_ to ensure you _never_ tell anyone of this. I may not have my…tools of the trade but that doesn't mean I don't know _other_ ways of ending your life!"

"Sure you do," "Mysterion" "uncharacteristically" chuckled.

"There's more than one way to make someone suffer, _McCormick_," Bain growled. "I know a handful and let me assure you, you won't be running away from any of them once I apply them."

"You already have," "Mysterion" replied.

"No, you keep slipping away and running for the hills," Bain corrected, his eyes narrowed.

"Mysterion" sighed as if _he_ was the one who was put out. "I didn't slip away and run, you actually killed me a few times."

"I think I would remember killing you," Bain spat back. "No one dies and then comes back to life. It's physically impossible."

"Mysterion" looked like he wanted to say something back to that but instead, he slumped back into his seat. Bain had to strain his hearing but he almost made out what the masked vigilante was mumbling. "Why doesn't anybody remember?" Now what the hell did that mean? Remember what? He was too pissed off to give it any further thought but he still had enough of his mind to try and make a grab for his Ipod.

"Mysterion," if nothing else, had quick reflexes and had moved the device out of reach. "Nuh uh," the masked hero chastised. "This is the only entertaining thing on this plane. I am not giving this up for boredom."

"You poor piece of shit," Bain growled as he threw himself back into his seat and crossed his arms like a pouting child.

"Yes I am," "Mysterion" replied, "and I also have your Ipod. What else do you have on this thing?"

Bain's eyes widened as he thought about what else there was on there and he made another failed grab.

This was going to be a long flight…

* * *

"Dude, you look tired," Stan said as he took in his best friend. "Up late doing homework or something?"

"No, I just…didn't get a lot of sleep," Kyle answered tiredly.

"Probably thinking about his boyfriend," Cartman sniggered as he finally arrived, on time for once. "I saw them getting kissy-kissy out in the hallway earlier."

Kyle narrowed his eyes but for once didn't have the energy to tell Cartman to shut the hell up. Stan caught onto that quite quickly and he frowned in worry. That was strange. Kyle not telling Cartman to shut up was like Kenny saying no to porn. It was impossible like the sun rising in the west, Hell freezing over, and the Cubs winning the World Series.

It didn't happen.

"Kyle, are you sure you're feeling okay?" Stan asked, not caring if Cartman thought him a pussy. He already did so why put in the effort of trying to convince him otherwise?

"Ooh, drama, the best friend trying to steal his one true love from the grasp of that unholy asshole," Cartman mocked. "Where are your balls Stan? Did you lose them recently or something?"

"Fuck off," Stan said to Cartman quickly, returning his attention back to Kyle. "Really dude, you can tell us…me anything." He gritted his teeth together as Cartman made a gagging sound.

"I just need some sleep, nothing to it," Kyle tried to assure him. It didn't assure him one bit and the redhead knew it as well as the jock. "I'll just have Cerberus up the security."

"Is Cartman still trying to sneak into your room?" Stan asked, eyes narrowing. Looking pointedly at Cartman, he added, "That's gayer than you actually having a boyfriend."

"Ay! Fuck you Stan! I haven't been able to sneak into Kyle's room in a month!" Cartman declared, shutting his mouth tightly as he not only realized just what he said but how loud he said it.

The rest of the class, of those that were there, stared at him, only bursting into laughter when someone yelled out "Fag!" at the fattening teen.

"Well screw you! Screw all of you! And screw you Stan and Kyle, Imma going home," Cartman yelled out, his face so red that you could almost see steam leaking out of his ears.

"No you're not, you little fag," Garrison said from his desk lazily. "We have reports to give today and if you're not here, you're going to get an F."

"You're already going to give me an F!" Cartman protested.

"Yeah, but I at least like to see what I'm giving an F to," Garrison shrugged. "Now sit your chubby tits down."

Ignoring Cartman as he squawked in rage at their teacher, Stan turned back to Kyle who had laid his head on his desk. He was almost inclined to believe Kyle when he said he was tired and needed some sleep but Stan knew better. You weren't someone's best friend, even their super best friend, without learning all the tells of when they were lying.

"Do you need to go to the nurse?" Stan asked the Jew who turned his head just enough so that he could peek at him with a single eye. "I can take you there now; there's still time."

"Didn't you hear? We have reports due," Kyle said dryly.

"That's not a good enough excuse not to go," Stan frowned at him. "Let me help Kyle."

"Just give it a rest Stanley," Kyle sighed as he pushed himself up only to end up slumping in his seat.

Stan flinched slightly at the use of his full first name. Kyle rarely called him by it unless he was really pissed or really didn't want to talk about something. It was a shame that the despite the years, Stan couldn't tell the difference between the two.

As the bell rang, he managed to get out, "The offer still stands."

Kyle smiled wryly at him and replied quietly, "I know."

* * *

Normally, Damien wasn't annoyed by mortals. They were such fascinating creatures and made the most interesting noises when you shoved some very uncomfortable objects into any of their orifices. That said, he should have known by now that there was always an exception to every rule and belief.

Right now, that exception was standing only five feet away and looking his babysitter up and down like she was a piece of meat.

"Are you trading up one pipsqueak for another now?" the large, blond mortal asked. "I have to say, this one is an improvement. He doesn't look as freaky as the shrimp."

"I like 'em short. Leave me alone," Charlie said dully, looking anywhere that the mortal wasn't.

"Is that your kink or something? You like short people?" the mortal demanded. "You're missing out on a lot, Charlie. Don't you know what they say about tall people?"

"If you're going to use the big feet thing, don't," Charlie interrupted, making a show of looking at the mortal's feet. "Bain has a larger shoe size than you do."

Damien snorted and folded his arms over his chest. Ah, nothing like attacking a male mortal where it really hurt.

"Ouch," the mortal said as he scratched the back of his head, that peaked hat of his balancing precariously on the top of his head. Ugh, this mortal had a _terrible_ fashion sense. His father would torture him himself just because of that alone. "Is that a talent of yours? To know all the ways to make a guy feel small?"

"Yeah, it is, and that's why I like them short. They can't feel any smaller," Charlie replied, her annoyance clearly audible to even a deaf person. "Go back to those whores you like so much. You're not going to get 'lucky' with me any time soon."

"Is that why they call you a lottery ticket?" the mortal asked. Damien raised an eyebrow as Charlie tensed at that. Ooh, personal territory. This little bit of entertainment was starting to get somewhere. "Impossible odds but huge payout? I'm a pretty 'lucky' person if I don't say so myself."

"You are the most suicidal person I have ever seen," Charlie stated bluntly. "I wasn't this bad in my heyday."

"I prefer to call it stamina," the mortal grinned at her, planting a large hand on her desk and leaning on it. Oh for his father's sake, there was lust positively sweating out of this mortal! It was practically dripping off him and forming a pure puddle of lust around his feet! Damien looked with disgust as the sin puddled around the mortal who was oblivious to it.

"Please remove yourself and go as far away from me as possible," he found himself spitting out. "The smell _reeking_ off you is making me ill."

The mortal stared at him for a moment then added more insult to injury. "Wow, you're just like the shrimp. You have quite a mouth. Maybe I can put it to better use."

"He's already taken," Charlie interrupted before Damien could launching himself at the mortal and tear out his throat.

"Oh? Is this the part where you tell me to keep my distance because his girlfriend is overly possessive?" the mortal asked mockingly.

"Actually, _I'm_ the 'possessive' one," Damien growled. "Remove your presence from my personal space before I introduce you to a living hell the likes of which you can barely imagine."

"That means leave the classroom," Charlie added.

"What? But I have class here too!" the mortal protested.

"Damien's personal space is pretty big," Charlie shrugged.

Now, Damien didn't know if he was seeing things but there was something in that mortal's green eyes that made him pause. Hmm, there was something dark lurking behind that handsome exterior of his. Very interesting. As the mortal left without another word, heading to a desk a couple rows away, the Antichrist decided to probe his babysitter a bit for some information.

Those eyes were still on his mind and for some reason they reminded him of Kyle. There was no way he wanted to associate his submissive's gems with that douche's.

"Who was that?" he asked Charlie, giving the full power of his red-eyed glare.

"Why do you want to know?" Charlie asked back.

"I like to know the names of those sinners in which I take great pleasure in tormenting," Damien replied smoothly. "It always adds an element when you can address a soul by its earthly name. Now what is it?"

"Rod," Charlie stated blandly.

"That's certainly blatant," Damien blinked. "Named after a dick?"

"Odd how all he thinks with is his dick," Charlie said. "I'm still wondering why he hasn't been found in a ditch yet."

"Any particular image in mind?" Damien asked slyly.

Charlie's cheeks pinkened and she adverted her eyes for a second. Not only an image but a person too? What other personal fantasies did this human girl have, he wondered.

If he was ever to retrieve his freedom, he was going to have to break this girl with any means necessary.

* * *

Rod spent the past two periods wracking his mind, trying to figure out just who the new kid had managed to bag and on his first day no less!

First all the girls stare at Damien with googly-eyes while all the guys have an opposite reaction and become attracted to one another for a day. Then Rod can't get any of the girls to pay enough attention to him so that he could lure one of them back to his house for fun. And lastly, because of that asshole, he didn't get laid at all last night.

It was a huge cockblock conspiracy and the one thing Rod hated above all was being cockblocked.

He had asked a group of girls if they knew who Damien had managed to nab but to his disgust, the girls moaned in despair while a few demanded to know who it was so they could track her down and murder her.

A few more cliques asked later and he was no closer to figuring out who this mystery girl was. It was frustrating him to no end. You're probably asking why he was going through so much trouble.

Well, he wanted to get at this new kid by taking his girlfriend and parading her in front of him. Nothing quite sent a message like that.

By lunchtime, he was frustrated and isolating himself from the usual group of girls he sat with. He didn't want to scare them away, especially now that his movements were restricted. But still, how hard was it to find one single girl in a school so small?

However, as it turned out, lunch was where he got his first clue to who this mysterious girl was.

Or perhaps he should say boy…

"Don't you have anything better to do other than bug the shit out of me?" Kyle demanded.

"I thought you would have figured this out by now, you Jew," Cartman replied. "I have no life other than to bug your gay ass. Speaking of your ass, you haven't been raped by that butt pirate recently, have you?"

"Cartman, when will you fucking learn?" Stan groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "If you make fun of Damien, he's going to send you to the hospital or psych ward."

Hearing Damien's name had peaked Rod's interest and he had started listening in, hoping to find some kind of tidbit. He couldn't help but wonder what making fun of the daywalker had to do with that pale son of a bitch.

"Stan, I have no idea where you get such crazy ideas," Cartman chided. "I could beat that pussy up to the point he has to go to intensive care. The only reason I've had trouble with doing that is because he keeps cheating and getting lucky shots. One of these days, Kyle's little boyfriend is going to get his. Mark my words."

Wait, he couldn't mean…?

"Oh what, you're going to be the one to do it?" Kyle asked dryly. "Wendy kicked your ass in the fourth grade. I might be going out with him…and not entirely of my own free will…but Cartman, listen to me for once. Don't provoke Damien! He gets off on that stuff."

After that point, Rod had stopped listening as he thought about what he had just heard. So Damien swung for the other team, hmm? Not a problem for Rod to work with. Gender had never been an obstacle for him so long as whoever he had in his sights had some kind of hole he could fuck.

Still, he had never thought about going after one of those guys. But wait, wasn't Kyle also a friend of Stan's? Now that he thought about it, he was Stan's best friend. First Wendy and now Kyle? If Rod didn't know any better, he would have thought that someone wanted him to fuck Stan's shit up.

This solved the mystery of who was Damien's main squeeze. Strange how he only hooked up with Kyle yesterday yet from the way Kyle and his friends were talking, they had been together for quite some time. Eh, it was a mystery he had no interest in solving. He had more important things to think about, such as getting Kyle alone long enough for him to work his magic.

A thought occurred to him; by going after the only Jew in town, he'd be killing two birds with one stone. He'd get both Stan and Damien and get some while he was at it. Damn it, he loved it when a plan came together.

Now to put it into action.

* * *

It was one of those days where you learned your teacher wasn't in the mood to teach but in order to make it look like they were doing their job, they assigned a couple worksheets that had to be finished by the end of class.

Sawyer liked these kinds of days because usually he could finish them up pretty quickly on his own. Twenty minutes, thirty tops, and he was done and had nothing to do to occupy his time. Naturally, others were finishing up, looking up the answers to the worksheets' questions through the textbooks, and as they got done one at a time, they began to look to one another for entertainment. Already there was a murmur in the class as those who were done were trying to talk with others who were done and at the same time try not to be so loud that the teacher heard them.

In five minutes that wouldn't matter as everyone would be talking, even the ones not done, and the whole class would be noisy.

Until then, Sawyer would amuse himself by looking to his—insert the beginning of a blush here—boyfriend who was a couple desks ahead of him and a row over. Funny how he hadn't known that Christian was in this class until after Christian's incident with Rod in the bathroom.

They didn't share many classes together but when they did, Sawyer always found himself swearing when he realized they were sitting apart from one another.

It would figure that the teachers they shared just happened to be sticklers for assigned seating. Basically, if you sat in a desk on the first day of class, that was your desk until the end of the school year. No switching was allowed.

At the very least, Christophe sat in the desk next to him but the French guy was too busy being lost in his own head, most likely thinking about Rhiannon again. Sawyer didn't begrudge him that; he had Christian to think about but unlike Christophe, his boyfriend—blush reddens further here—was in this class. Rhiannon was somewhere else.

He took a glance at Christophe, noting that the self-proclaimed merc was already done with his work and no book in sight. He wouldn't be surprised if Christophe had done it all without it and still finished first before anyone else. He was smart like that.

Kinda made Sawyer jealous but then he had to remind himself he was pretty smart himself…just not as smart as Christophe.

Screw him, Christian was pretty smart himself, he reasoned. And with that he looked back at the androgynous boy's backside. He hoped he was doing better now. Even though they had only been together for a short amount of time, Christian still flinched when someone simply touched him. Though he wouldn't show it, it kinda hurt that he would do it, even with him.

He still thought that letting Rod off the hook was a bad idea. That asshole was most likely looking for another piece of ass to victimize. He knew it in his gut that it was only a matter of time.

Then there was that new kid, Damien. He didn't mind that there was a new guy around, even though he would have liked to get involved in whatever prank was being planned, but he was curious about why he had latched onto Charlie of all people.

Just by hanging out with Christophe, he had hung out with Charlie and he knew that the girl was not really the kind of person who liked hanging out with new people. There was one exception to that but could it really be called an exception? It had been that time when her husband had gotten amnesia and was acting just like how Damien was acting. Sort of. Bain had looked more pathetic while Damien looked like he was making a sacrifice hanging around Charlie all the time.

As the noise level in the classroom picked up, Sawyer felt a chill and he did a quick Hail Mary. You know, just to be on the safe side. He, like everybody else, did not want to be on Charlie's husband's bad side. He remembered all too clearly the sensation of being frozen solid and the feeling of being trapped and unable to get out.

It was so obvious Bain had been responsible for that event last school year. Why hadn't anybody punished him for it yet? Was it because no one could figure out how he did it? But there had been that one girl, DJ Callahan who had claimed she knew but she, along with her whole family, had moved from South Park.

Rumor had it they had wanted to go somewhere more peaceful. Other rumors said Bain had threatened them to leave. He was undecided, between the two possibilities. Both seemed likely, neither impossible. At least, that's how Sawyer figured it.

Why'd Charlie put him with that guy? Not Damien, her "husband"? She was okay once you got to know her though there were times he'd catch her in a foul mood. Strange how whenever she was in a mood, she looked more sad than she did angry. She must have had a hard like or something and it was further compounded with Bain forcing his way in.

Little known fact, after he had started hanging with Christophe and by virtue Charlie, he had taken it upon himself to tell Bain off, maybe persuade him to leave Charlie alone. Bain struck back but not with his fists. He used words, simple words, but tore his mind to shreds and left him practically a crying mess. That served to tell him not to get close to that psychopath and ever since he had kept his distance.

Besides, everyone was kinda afraid of the guy, no matter how brave they were around others. It was just…easier to leave Bain alone than try and show him who was boss.

And so to prove to himself that he walked the walk, he would forget about Bain and focus on Christian…who was looking back at him now with a raised eyebrow. Uh…how long had he been staring and why had he not realized that Christian was done with his work as well? The look he was sending him spoke volumes, the foremost of which was "Getting a good look, boy? Take a good long one because this is all you're going to see until your balls turn blue."

He gave a sheepish smile and let his eyes fall down towards his desk where both of his worksheets continue to lay, finished and undisturbed. A moment later, he risked peeking up at Christian who, instead of looking peeved, was giving him a crooked half-smile, slightly strained naturally but it was loads better than that earlier look.

It was the look that Sawyer recognized as Christian's "sorry, kinda overreacted there for a second" look. He gave those looks a lot, an apology usually following soon. And there it was in the shape of an apologetic smile. He nodded back at Christian, waving it away as if saying the past was the past. No harm, no foul, right?

It was starting to take an effort to remember just why Christian was like this but to Sawyer it was getting old about now. Maybe he should start pressing Christian to face his fear, or at least Rod, and try to bring some closure to this matter.

* * *

The school bathrooms were starting to become a second home, Kyle thought to himself wryly. His teachers were starting to think he had a bladder control problem and it was only a matter of time until it reached his mother's ears.

Jehovah have mercy on him if that happened.

Fortunately it was still lunch for him, albeit only the last five to ten minutes of it. Why was it he was avoiding people all of a sudden, he wondered. Was he trying to avoid Cartman? That didn't make much sense to him as he had endured Cartman for so many years. Why now would that fatass start bothering him enough to make him flee to the restroom?

Here's a theory: maybe this was Damien's doing. Yeah, now that he thought about it, this new habit of his hadn't started until this very school year. It hadn't happened during his junior year and it was only at the end of it that he had been abducted by Damien himself. Was this a coincidence? Maybe; he didn't have all the data he needed to make an accurate guess but at least he had a theory.

He paused and glanced at the closed restroom door. Nobody had come in yet but knowing how things worked, any second someone should be walking in right now with the intent and purpose of doing something to him. He could only say something because he wasn't sure whether it was molestation or harassment that awaited him.

And no one came in.

Huh, maybe he was just getting paranoid or something.

There was a whoosh as the door opened, followed by the sound of booted feet strolling in.

Kyle groaned to himself. Maybe he wasn't paranoid.

Deciding that he didn't want to see who it was, Kyle kept his gaze firmly on his reflection in the mirror, making a show of washing his hands so that it looked like he was finishing up his business in here. His eyebrow twitched when he felt a pair of eyes staring at him and the person's presence only a few feet away.

_Let me guess, he has some words to throw at me_, Kyle thought to himself. Was Cartman really that desperate or something that he had to follow him everywhere now in order to get whatever the hell he wanted from him? Kyle was at the point that he would step to a side the next time Damien got pissed at the fat boy and let him have it.

As he turned, shutting off the faucet, he found that it wasn't Cartman who was staring at him. Nope, it was that Rod guy and he was looking at him like he was hungry. Something about this didn't bode right but Kyle couldn't quite put his finger on it yet.

"What?" he asked dully. He held his hands out in front of him, water dripping from the appendages.

Rod said nothing for a moment, irritating Kyle who felt that his sanctuary had been unjustly invaded. Funny how he was thinking the restroom was a sanctuary when only yesterday Damien had ambushed him here.

"You're dating that new kid, aren't you?" Rod finally spoke though his question sounded more like a statement.

Kyle frowned, wondering how this guy knew that. Most people weren't even aware of it and the only guys who knew were his friends and Cartman. He was only surprised that people were coming up to him now and asking if he was going out with a guy. Sure, Cartman had that jaw thing but that wouldn't have stopped him from using his relationship against him.

"Any reason you want to know?" Kyle demanded as he shoved his way past Rod. He reached for the paper towel dispenser but came to a stop as a large hand snapped up his wrist, the grip incredibly tight and uncomfortable.

Okay, this was starting to piss Kyle off.

"Hey, what the hell do you think you're—" he came to a sudden halt as he found Rod was very close. Close as in the guy's face was only a couple inches from his and those green eyes were glittering.

Wait, he knew the look this asshole had on. It was the same Damien had right before…he…oh crap.

His back made friends with the tiled wall and he grunted as the back of his head bounced off it. Rod was towering over him, pining his hands on either side of him and pressing his body close. This wasn't a good situation. What did this guy want?

"I heard that the new guy was going out with someone; you have no idea how long I've been looking for her when just a little while ago, I found out she was a he and he was you," Rod said, smirking like the fucking asshole that he was.

"How long did you look? An hour?" Kyle spat.

"The whole morning," Rod corrected.

"Wow, your attention span is longer than I thought it was," Kyle said sarcastically.

"I don't like your boyfriend," Rod said, ignoring the insult. "Something about him pisses me off. That and every single girl in school is in love with him. He's cockblocking me Kyle. I hate being cockblocked."

"What does that have to do with me?" Kyle demanded.

"I figure stealing his boytoy ought to send him a message," Rod smirked.

"Okay, pal, you really don't want to do that," Kyle warned. "Damien…he's dangerous. He'll not only kill you when he finds out about this, he'll make your afterlife worse than hell. For your own good, walk the fuck away while you still can."

"What? Can't defend yourself?" Rod taunted back, dismissing the very real threat. "You need your boyfriend here to protect you, is that it?"

"Dude, what planet do you live on?" Kyle asked incredulously.

"Soon to be your anus," Rod shot back right before he smashed his lips onto Kyle's.

Kyle's eyes bulged open at the audacity of this douche. Holy fucking crap, this guy was nuts! Coco for Cocoa Puffs nuts!

Parting away, Rod still had that shit-eating smirk of his but Kyle was not intimidated by it in no way. Apparently seeing this, Rod tightened his already iron-tight grip on his wrists, making Kyle think the guy was trying to break them.

"I'm going to fuck you," Rod stated bluntly. "I'm going to do it right here, right now. It's going to be fucking fun. For me."

"You have five seconds to let go of me," Kyle deadpanned.

"I'll wait," Rod said back challengingly.

Well, he did warn him.

Bracing his leg, Kyle brought it up. Hard.

Rod was backing away, clutching at his groin all the while swearing at the Jew, calling him so many names. Kyle was immune to them; you had to be after spending so many years with Cartman calling you the same thing. Balling a fist, Kyle swung a punch that nailed Rod in his right cheek, Rod's head snapping to a side though he didn't fall down.

Taking a hand away from his family jewels, Rod felt the area where Kyle had hit him as if in disbelief. Then his face twisted, becoming ugly with anger. Having never seen such an expression on anyone's face, or at least directed at him, Kyle did not see Rod's fist strike at him until it had taken up the center of his vision.

The force of the blow sent Kyle's head back into the tiled wall, pain exploding in his skull as a cracking sound echoed in the restroom. Kyle fell to his knees, clutching at the back of his head in agony, curling in on himself slightly.

Then came the kick that somehow found its way into the side of his stomach and Kyle felt himself rolling on the floor until he smacked up against one of the stalls.

"You little bitch!" Rod roared at him. "Just for that, I'm going to do you raw."

Do…him…raw? You mean to tell him that kick hadn't crushed one of his testicles? And even in what should be crippling pain, that guy was still thinking of sex?

Fuck his life.

He felt himself being picked up and then once again slammed into something. Telling by the vibrations, it had to be the stall itself.

Huh, here he was, about to have the life raped out of him and all he could think about where these little things. Maybe his mind was bracing itself for the act that was about to come. He shivered, whether in fear or from the cold air that touched his skin, as Rod shoved the Jew's pants down, flipping him around so that his back was towards the would-be rapist.

Damn it, now would be a good time for someone to walk in on this, preferably a teacher of some kind.

When the restroom door slammed opened, the first word that came to Kyle's mind was "hallelujah!"

Maybe that word was a bit inappropriate seeing as how it was the most unholy person in the whole school who was staring at them both. There was that unnatural heat that chased away the chill of the restroom and was it him or was that heat intensifying?

"You have big balls you little gnat," Damien growled, his eyes glowing with an intense red. "I had thought you only as a nuisance. Apparently, I have to upgrade you from an itch to a full on rash."

"Is that all?" Kyle heard Rod reply. "I've heard worse from my parents."

"Cocky as well," Damien sneered. "I'm going to enjoy breaking you, mortal twit."

"Oh that's so much better than…" Rod began to retort, trailing off in discomfort. Kyle could visibly see Rod struggle against something, something that was probably striking at him from the inside. Yet, the guy gritted his teeth and forced out, "Better than… better than…than…"

Well, whatever he was fighting, he was losing against it. Kyle took the opportunity afforded to him when Rod's grip on him slackened enough for him to slip away. Because his pants were pooled around his ankles, he stumbled across the restroom, managing to catch himself on one of the sinks before his head made friends with the porcelain. Grabbing his boxers and pants with one hand, he tugged them upwards, hoping to preserve whatever sense of decency he had left.

However, he never took his eyes off the other males. Rod, strangely, was still on his feet though his face was red as hell with veins throbbing visibly from his neck. It was Damien, though, that had Kyle concerned. Damien had the fingertips from one hand pressed against one of his temples, like a phony psychic would, and he could see that the Antichrist was struggling as well.

Unexpectedly, Damien gasped and whatever hold he had on Rod was broken. The blond fell up against the stall that he had previously pinned Kyle to and much to the Jew's frustration, he did not fall. Instead, Rod was staring at Damien, giving the black-haired youth an indescribable look. There was a hint of fear and terror there, Kyle would admit but other than that, he couldn't tell what it was that Rod's facial expression was emulating.

"What the hell are you?" Rod gasped, his body trembling.

"You should be asking what else can I do to you? What you just had is only a taste of what I can really do," Damien declared. Kyle frowned at how boastful he was; Damien was never boastful. He knew what he could do and knew he didn't have to tell anyone that he could do much worse. There was something else afoot, the Jew could feel it. "Leave now while I'm still feeling generous."

Rod slid his way around Damien, never turning his back to him. It was only then that Kyle noticed that the blond had his pants unbuttoned and unzipped. Damn, it had really been cut close hadn't it? Rod didn't seem to notice as he never took his eyes off Damien until he reached the door. He opened it and slid through the opening, the door closing softly with his passing.

Just like that, the tension in the room disappeared and Damien collapsed onto his knees. This sent alarms blaring through Kyle's mind and he found himself, surprisingly enough, rushing to Damien's side.

"Hey, are you all right?" he asked, concerned. Damien was panting as if he had just done an intense physical exertion, sweat beading up on his forehead and dripping down to his chin.

"Curse it," Damien swore softly. "That medallion is taking too much out of me already."

"What are you talking about?" Kyle frowned.

As if realizing that Kyle was at his side, Damien's eyes snapped upwards and captured the redhead's green ones. Unlike all the other previous times, Kyle found that those red gems were not as intense as they used to be. Used to, it felt like Damien was looking straight into his very soul. Now, it was as if he could only look through his eyes and peer at the soul he knew was behind them. It was kinda hard to describe but that was the best way Kyle knew how to put it.

"I'm weakening," Damien murmured in realization, momentarily forgetting that Kyle was still there. Of course, it was only momentary as Damien grabbed the Jew and brought him close. Kyle felt his head being pressed against the other's chest and he could hear the rapidly beating heart beneath. "Do not tell anyone what you saw or heard here," Damien whispered into his ear.

"Why?" Kyle asked softly. Despite being in the hands of a would-be rapist, he was not shying away from the physical contact Damien was forcing on him. Maybe it was because he felt safe or maybe it was that the enormity of what had happened and what could have happened had not reached his brain just yet.

"There are those who would take advantage," Damien said quietly, making Kyle strain his hearing so that he could make out the words that were being told to him. "Until I can return to my full strength…I will not be able to be your knight in black armor, my pet. You'll have to protect yourself."

"I can already do that," Kyle pointed out.

"Really? Then what was that before?" Damien replied. "You're lucky but eventually your luck will run out. Everyone's luck does. So until I can correct what is happening, I want you to stay away from every blond you meet."

"What?" Kyle pushed himself away from Damien, giving the other a puzzled look. The puzzlement soon vanished as he recalled all the blonds he knew and had met. Sure Rod was a blond but he was the only one that had endangered him like this. If he was to avoid everyone with blond hair…

"You're using this as an excuse to make me stay away from Gary, aren't you?" the Jew accused.

"Yes but I don't just mean blonds. I am also including every harpy on this planet," Damien said. "Blondes may have more fun but that can also come at someone else's expense."

"Blond guys and blonde girls? You're taking this overboard," Kyle said. "Screw that, I'll just avoid Rod."

"Can you?" Damien asked. "You can't avoid him forever. He'll find his opportunity and he'll take it. I know his type. He presents a mask to the world, one that fools everybody. What you just saw now was the animal beneath the mask. That was the real 'him' and I doubt he's going to give up just because of one failure, don't you think?"

"And how does avoiding all blondes come into this?" Kyle demanded. "I'm really not seeing where you're going with this."

Damien growled and stood up abruptly. Taking a few steps away from Kyle, the Antichrist stood as still as a statue, leaving Kyle to wonder what was going on through that demonic head of his. Eventually, Damien turned back to Kyle and there was that menacing grin of his, the one that Kyle had been shown time and again.

"What is it?" Kyle asked warily as he picked himself up, making sure that his pants stayed up with him and only now fixing them.

"Since you saw through my ploy…I guess I'll give you a deal instead," Damien said, his eyes once again glowing eerily. "Because I have chosen you, Kyle, I am stronger in your presence than anyone else's. Any bargain we strike up will be as binding as if my powers weren't as restricted as they are now."

"Where are you going with this?" Kyle asked warily.

"You can keep your 'friendship' with the Mormon," Damien said, spitting out the word "friendship." "However, if you want to keep him as a friend…you'll have to give up another."

"What?" Kyle blurted out, eyes wide.

Damien smirked at him. "You can keep Gary as a friend but…you'll have to give up a friendship you have with someone else. If you want to keep Gary, you'll have to give up…" here Damien trailed off, as if thinking over who he should name. Kyle didn't like it, not one bit.

Then Damien let loose the bombshell.

"Stan."

Kyle felt his mouth dry up. Damien couldn't ask this of him, he couldn't!

"Keep Gary, lose Stan. Or lose Gary, keep Stan. Those are your only options," Damien stated. "And don't think you can choose neither. This bathroom has been sealed and it won't let either of us out until you pick one or the other." Damien's eyes glowed brightly and Kyle could feel that sense of being trapped. The Antichrist wasn't lying.

"Why are you doing this?" Kyle asked, his voice raspy.

"I just want to make sure I don't lose you, my pet," Damien said.

"Shut up with that!" Kyle exclaimed. "First you kidnap me and force me into a relationship! Now you're making me chose between my friends! Fuck this shit! I thought I might be able to accept this and maybe accept you. No more, this has gone too far. I want out Damien. Let me go."

Damien's eyes were wide at the declaration. He had pushed and prodded the Jew, shaping him into the companion that he wanted so dearly and now it was being thrown back into his face. He didn't like it but with every second that passed, the Jew's will and resolve were growing stronger. With him weakened, there was no way Damien could adequately fix the damage that had been done. He hadn't thought that bringing things to this point would destroy that which he had thought he had owned.

"I'm sorry you feel that way Kyle," he said, his throat burning for some reason. What was this he was feeling? And why were his words coming out differently from what they actually were in his head? "I don't want to lose you. You are—"

"Don't!" Kyle interrupted, covering his ears tightly. "I don't want to hear another word! Just stop this fucking thing and let me go! Please!"

"I'm sorry but it's too late," Damien said quietly, keeping this strange emotion he was feeling hidden. "Once it has begun, there's no stopping it. Only you can release us and to do that…you have to make a choice. It's either Gary or Stan, Kyle."

"Don't make me choose," Kyle sobbed as he lowered himself to the tiled floor, a place he was getting to know real well it seemed. "Please, don't make me."

"I would think the choice would be obvious," Damien said. "You'd keep Stan and toss aside Gary. You've been friends with Stan for all your life. That kind of friendship would be a shame to throw away. So logically…"

"Don't put logic into this," Kyle snapped, slumping in on himself. "Yeah, Stan is my best friend, my," he smiled bitterly, "super best friend. We've been through so much…yet I've felt that he hasn't understood me. He knows me, knows everything about me but there's this…this disconnect. He's gone off and become a sports star, has a girlfriend and everything. Then there's me, the geeky Jew who got lucky to be his friend when we were kids. We don't hang out as much anymore. Gary on the other hand…he's different. He's like a nicer, and gayer, version of Stan. And he understands me. I don't get why; I mean, I just started talking with him like a month, month and a half ago.

"I know the choice should be obvious but I can't choose. I really can't. Do I keep the person I've known all my life, who's practically my brother, or do I keep the person who I can say anything to and who won't judge me or go off with the popular crowd on a whim? I…I like them both."

This was going wrong; Damien knew it and knew he could admit that he fucked up. Not only was he putting the one person he was interested in through such a trial but he was also losing what he had spent months trying to build with him as well. The relationship, the one thing he had fought with his father, the Prince of Darkness himself, over. The one thing that had motivated him into accepting this situation his father had placed him into. If he lost that, then what was he doing staying in the mortal realm?

A deal was a deal with his father; he would have to stay up here and fulfill it, even though he would have to see Kyle, his pet, walking about and with a status that he did not want him to have. The ex-boyfriend of the Antichrist. He did not want that ex there but at this rate, he would be unable to prevent it.

"Damien," Kyle stated, tears leaking from his eyes as he looked at him. "I've made my decision. But know that after this…it's over."

"No!" Damien found himself crying out, dropping to his knees in front of the Jew and embracing him tightly. "Don't do that Kyle! Anything but that!"

"But that's my deal," Kyle said stoically. "If I have to give up someone close to me…then so do you."

There was a change in the air and Damien stared at Kyle, not masking his horror with his confidence or even the evil he knew was his very being. The situation had changed and Kyle's condition had been added to the bargain. He, the Antichrist, had just been outmaneuvered.

"So now the ball's in your court Damien," Kyle said dully. "What will it be? Do I lose someone and you in turn lose me?"

"How do I know you won't leave if I agree not to let you give up one?" Damien asked, suspicious.

"You don't," Kyle stated.

A moment later, there was a snap.

The deal was sealed.

* * *

"Is something wrong?" Brianna asked, frowning at Rod who was sitting in the desk next to her, staring off into space.

He wasn't being flirty or even being the handsome asshole he was. He was just sitting there as if something had been stolen from him but he couldn't tell what. Something had been stolen from him, he was sure. He just couldn't figure out what it was.

It was that Damien kid's fault. Damien had done something to him and in turn he had lost the thing that he had valued most. Control. He had lost control. This time, he didn't have an answer or an idea as to how he could get back.

The visions were flashing before his mind and the sensations related to them he could feel as if they were happening now.

He felt stretched, as if to his very limit. Most of it, strangely, was in his arms. His arms felt like they were being pulled backwards and restrained behind his back. His legs also felt stretched but not completely to the extent that his arms were. He also felt as if there was someone over him, watching him with utmost cruelty. And let's not forget he could feel something in his backside, as if something was filling him up, something that was not suppose to be there.

"_Look at you. You're a mess. Do I need to punish you? It looks like I do, you messy boy. You've been very messy. So messy that I won't slick you up today."_

No. Please. He wasn't messy, it wasn't his fault. You made him messy. Please Mistress. Don't do it. Don't do it again. Please Mistress, don't—

Though his eyes were wide open, they seemed to open further and his gaze became more intense. He was still seeing it but at the same time he could still see the desk he was sitting at, the back of the person in the desk in front of him, Brianna in the desk beside him giving him a worried look though she was trying to keep it downplayed.

Huh, he was trembling. He hadn't felt like this in a long time. There was something about it that struck the fear of God within him. He didn't like the feeling of it, hated it, but also he yearned for it, somewhere deep in the dark recesses of his person that he dared not to tread.

He could strangle a hundred bitches and not care about it but looking deep within himself, it was not something he could do.

"Hey, you're starting to creep me out here," Brianna said, shaking his shoulder. "What's up? Someone stand you up or something?"

Rod took a good look at her, a real good look at her. She was a bookworm, he remembered. She was like…like _her_, wasn't she? He could feel something stirring within him, a want he had not had in years. It was something he didn't want, something that he had done his best to run away from.

It looked like he couldn't run from it anymore.

"Can you come over to my house?" he asked her. He didn't have his usual confidence. No, he sounded more like he was pleading with her, begging her to come back with him. "I-I need you to do something for me."

"Okay…" Brianna reluctantly agreed, wondering what was going on with him.

He shut his eyes, a shudder running through his body at the anticipation that he despised so suddenly that rippled throughout him.


	25. Grudges

Author's Note: This would have gotten out earlier but I got sick this week. Normally, that wouldn't stop me from writing but due to extenuating circumstances, my computer was sixty miles away from where I was recuperating. Ever had your throat hurt so bad that even drink cold water was nearly impossible? Oh yeah, I went there and am not happy to say I've started eating some really solid foods. Again. You really don't know the value of swallowing until you've nearly lost that ability.

Now, there's this one bit in this chapter that I had written while feeling sick, before sixty miles came in-between me and the computer. I was sick but writing it made me feel sicker if you can believe it. So much so that I had to cut off at a point before it got too raunchy. This is where the M rating gets really put to the test. I might have to put a warning about content in the summary, it's that bad. Tell me what you guys think. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, extreme adult situation

Grudges

The final bell for the day had rung and everybody who was eighteen and younger was heading for the hills. However, traffic slowed this massive flow of hormonal teenagers, traffic that existed both inside the school as bodies bumped and jostled into one another and outside where the factor of cars was added into the equation.

Kyra was not in either of those kinds of traffic jams. In fact, she was in the middle of a hunt, her prey already spotted and followed. It had been one huge stroke of luck that she had found Stan by his lonesome, none of his friends or Wendy nearby. This boosted her confidence somewhat though she was still nervous. After weeks' worth of convincing, Gary had finally pushed her to this point.

For better or worse…she was going to tell him. She was going to tell Stan that she liked him. She knew in her head that Stan would probably just smile and tell her that he was already taken but that thanks I'm flattered that you feel this way towards me.

She knew this intrinsically but in reality she couldn't hold it in any longer. Maybe it was because Gary refused to let her bury it away like she always did when these feelings reared their heads or maybe they had become so concentrated that no longer could she follow old habits.

Still, this would be so much easier if Stan was single. Her chances for finally, _finally_ telling him and standing a chance of possibly hooking up would have been greater.

She didn't want to be a home wrecker, she didn't. But you know what? No more. She didn't want to hold on to this any longer. She would take her chance, expecting for the chances of a fairy tale ending occurring to be zero, but at least she would have done something that a lot of girls were too scared or shy to do.

Take a deep breath, Kyra, this is going to epic.

Adjusting the straps of her backpack, she approached Stan, taking resolute steps instead of baby ones. She figured that the longer it took for her to reach him, the greater the chance she would lose her nerve and chicken out would be. No more, she repeated to herself, the mantra echoing through her head.

And now here he was, just five feet away from her, putting the last of his books away into his locker. If the media was correct, she didn't have a lot of time until Wendy showed up and snatched him away.

Her back ramrod straight, she cleared her throat, hoping to get Stan's attention.

He must not have heard it because he hadn't turned around.

Holding back a sigh, she timidly reached a hand out and placed it on Stan's shoulder, giving him a little shake.

Those blue eyes were now on her and she could feel her stomach churning in anxiety. Oh how she loved those eyes. Countless dreams she had had in which those eyes were focused solely on her, lavishing love on her. Sure right now it was more curiosity and confusion but she hoped that one day her dreams would come true.

"Uh…do you want something?" Stan asked as he looked at her. He started snapping his fingers, as if trying to recall something. "Ky…rie, right?"

Kyrie? Close enough, she supposed. At the very least he had remembered a syllable correctly.

"Ky_ra_," she corrected, placing an emphasis on the _ra_. "You almost had it right."

Wow, she was speaking to him calmly and not stuttering. This had to be a breakthrough.

"Oh. Of course," Stan smiled apologetically at her. "Is there something you need or am I in your way?"

"No, you're not!" she said quickly, closing her eyes so that she could force herself to slow down. No sense rushing this thing, right? "No, I just…there's something I need to tell you."

"Really?" Stan asked, his eyebrows rising. "What?"

"This is kinda…well, you know, kinda personal," she said, shifting her weight from one side of her body to the other and back again. "I just have to say something to you, something that has been, well, it's been kinda tormenting me for a while."

"Shoot," Stan said, giving her the go ahead as he leaned back slightly, relaxing his body. "Get it off your chest."

She blushed slightly at those words, an indecent image flashing in her mind which she swiftly dealt with. She had gotten this far; no sense in fucking it up now. Just think of it like a video game, she told herself. The goal is to tell him how you feel. That's all. Tell him how _you_ feel. You can do this.

"I just wanted to say," she swallowed, stalling a bit and giving herself one last chance to back out. She didn't take it. "I've liked you for quite some time." She was full out blushing right now, not believing what she had just said and to who! "I mean I _like_ like you," she clarified in case he hadn't gotten her meaning.

Sometime during her confession, she had let her eyes fall, looking down at her feet. Gathering what shreds of courage she had left, she peered up at Stan, wanting to know how he was taking this.

It was as she had expected. He had a smile on but it was thin and awkward. He clearly hadn't been expecting this and now that it was in his lap, he really had no clue on what to do with it. Seeing him so conflicted lifted the burden she had felt on her shoulders as she knew how he was feeling.

Two different emotions warring for dominance within you and neither able to totally conquer the other. You want to tell, you don't want to tell; you want to feel happy, you don't want to feel happy. You know, those kinds of things. Stan was obviously trying to deal with what had just been put into his lap but she had to say, he looked like was handling it well. The thought that maybe he had experience with this kind of thing made her heart drop a bit but she refused to let depression overcome her. She had known what she was getting into; now it was time to face the music.

"I'm…happy for you?" Stan said hesitantly. There was no need for him to go further; just that ambivalent response was all she needed. No fairy tale ending where he let go of his current girlfriend and took her into his arms was waiting here.

Yet, Kyra found that she had never felt better. No really, she felt like a million bucks. It was weird.

"I know it's hard for you," she said gently. "You don't have to like me back. Really!" she rushed to assure him. "I've had this on my plate for so long…I couldn't wait any longer or keep it a secret."

"I get it," Stan said, lowering his eyes. "I kinda get where you're coming from. It must be tough trying to tell someone who's taken that you like them."

"It is," she agreed. He really was taking this well.

"If…if this had been any other time," he said slowly, "maybe…I don't know…maybe we could have tried something, you know? But I have a girlfriend; I can't betray her."

"You wouldn't be you if you did," Kyra told him. "That's another thing I like, no, love about you. You're faithful, no matter what."

"Thanks, I guess?" Stan said.

"I just want you to know that if you ever want to talk or just hang out, I'll be here," she said. She felt as if her face was burning and her heart was hammering within her chest. This was going so much better than she had expected.

"I'd like that," Stan said and there it was. She could have swooned at that smile, the one smile that only Stan could do. It was the kind that made you feel like you were the center of the universe and everything revolved around you.

It was that very smile that had caused her to fall for him in the first place.

Had it been awkward that the first time she had seen it, he had been giving that smile to his best friend, another guy? Maybe. But you know what, she didn't care.

Why didn't she? Maybe it was because that right here, right now, that smile was being given to her and only her.

Perhaps she had been wrong; a dream was coming true right now.

Stan's Adam's apple bobbed for a second, then again. That was all the warning she had before Stan's beautiful smile was torn open and vomit spewed out from it.

* * *

What was this, a comedy of errors or something?

Wendy kept out of sight, biting her lower lip as what she had just scene continued to replay itself as if on a never ending loop.

She had walked upon that scene, seeing Stan and Kyra there talking. She had felt irritated by it and had been about to break up the little party when Stan threw up on the girl.

She had dealt with rivals in love before, withstood the heartache that came from having her egg retched from her, faced down Eric Cartman in a fight to the quasi-death even after all the stunts he pulled to get out of it. Yet this time this was one thing she felt she couldn't fight.

Why didn't Stan throw up on her anymore? Did he not care about her anymore? Did he not love her anymore?

The seeds of uncertainty had been planted a long time ago and they were beginning to bloom. This last event had given them a nice watering and whether Wendy knew it or not, time was starting to run out.

For all of them.

* * *

Kyra wasn't the only person who had been looking for someone. Charlie had found that out personally.

With a hand clutching the tooth that the Prince of Darkness had given to her, she called out for Damien, demanding to know where he was and more importantly what, or who, he was doing. Hey, she was responsible for him and she would be damned if she let him cause any more trouble than he already had. No really, she would literally be damned.

And that's what you get for getting into deals with the devil.

Anyway, Damien had yet to return to her side and she was beginning to say fuck it and let him have it when he showed up back at her house. He would have to anyway; it was where he was staying after all.

As she made her way out of the school, her mood souring with every second that passed, she felt a pair of eyes watching her. Her eyebrow twitched and her irritation almost skyrocketed. So, he was playing games with her, huh? She didn't play stalking games like this; she had had her fill of them already.

As it turned out, it wasn't Damien who had been watching her. Her agitation eased slightly as she found that pinked-haired girl (what was her name again? Wasn't it Sunny?) looking at her. Or maybe she was looking in her general direction? Charlie only got that idea from the way that this Sunny girl was looking at her but at the same time looking for someone else it seemed.

Keeping an eye on her but looking for someone else? It was enough to not only frustrate the girl but motivate her to stomp on over and find out just what Sunny wanted. Call it caution, distrust, paranoia, whatever, Charlie would be damned if she was to be stalked again.

It seemed like Sunny was going to be full of surprises today. The other girl had figured out that Charlie was heading her way yet she did nothing to try and run from it. If anything, it was like she was waiting for her. At this rate, Charlie was going to develop a migraine.

"Well?" she demanded as she came to a stop in front of Sunny. "Do you want something?"

Sunny looked around nervously, still with that look of searching for someone. Now this was just pissing her off now. First Sunny's staring at her and now that she had her attention, she looking for someone else and ignoring her? Like hell to that!

"Look, I'm not in the mood for games," she stated, her voice practically ordering Sunny to give her her full attention. "I saw you looking at me just now. You've been waiting for me right? I'm here right now, tell me what you want."

"Oh, I just…um," Sunny mumbled, looking away from Charlie's intense glare. "It's…uh…"

"I don't have all day," Charlie rolled her eyes. When all she got was some more mumbling, Charlie said, "Call me once you figure out what you want to say. I'm going home."

That had been the plan. Going home. Simple, right? Charlie thought so and so that was what she was going to do. Hopefully there wouldn't be a mess on the carpet today. Oh God have mercy on anyone who stained the carpet because her mother would have none.

There was a tug on her backpack and Charlie looked back at Sunny who proved to be the one responsible for the tug. Oh, so they weren't going to do this the easy way, huh?

Since it looked like she wasn't going to be leaving any time soon, Charlie decided to make herself comfortable even as her very presence cowed the other girl. "Well?" she demanded. "What?"

"I…well…I was looking for Bain," Sunny managed to get out, continuing to struggle.

So…she was looking for the maniac? Then why was she staring at her? Charlie was not Bain; they didn't even look the same! Plus they were kinda the opposite sex so really, you couldn't mistake one of them for the other.

"He's not here," she stared. Looking around and not spotting him, she added, "If you wait a bit, he'll show up sooner or later."

"He's usually somewhere close to you," Sunny mentioned, not looking Charlie in the eye. "I thought that…maybe…that if I kept an eye on you, I'd find him but I haven't."

"You're actually looking for him?" Charlie asked incredulously. No one looked for Bain. No one sane at least. Looking from side to side, searching for the guy who thought he was clever in keeping himself hidden but really sucked at it, she frowned as a thought occurred to her. "Why are you looking for him?" she demanded. Her quick look around hadn't shown her where her boyfriend was hiding but she knew it was a matter of time before he popped up.

"I need to ask him something," Sunny admitted. "I…didn't want to inconvenience you…or anything like that."

"Too late for that," she snorted. Frowning, she began to wonder where Bain was. Now that she really thought about it, she hadn't seen him at all today. She hadn't caught him in his obvious attempts at stalking, seen him just walk down the hall, or even leave one of those mementoes of his that he seemed to relish in giving her.

Was he even here today?

"I haven't seen him today but I've never really looked for him before," Sunny said. "Do you know where he is?" she asked shyly.

That was a good question. "Nope," she answered. Oh great, now she felt guilty. Sunny looked even more downtrodden than she had a minute ago. Now she felt obligated to try and cheer her up somehow. Oy.

"Hang on a sec," she grumbled as she pulled out her cell. Yes, she did indeed have one. It's just that she rarely used it and sometimes forgot she even had one. She accessed her phone book and skimmed down the short list of numbers she had until she found Bain's. Funny, she didn't remember putting his number into this thing…damn it, he did it himself and behind her back, hadn't he?

Not bothering to give a sigh or be peeved by this, she selected the number and held the phone to her ear, waiting impatiently as she heard the rings through the receiver. With each ring, she grew more impatient and by the fourth ring she was tapping her foot in annoyance. Pick up you asshole.

"_The number you are trying to call is unavailable,"_ Bain's dulled voice suddenly spoke after the fifth ring. _"If you would like to leave a message, do so after the scream. On another note, if this is you Charlotte, hang up. I'm too busy to talk with you right now."_

Why the nerve of… Charlie began to seethe but before she could, she heard another voice pop up.

"_No. No. Please don't. AAAAHHHHHHH!"_

Beep.

Huh. So that was the scream he was talking about. The cocky bastard.

"Where the hell are you asshole!" she bellowed into the phone, spooking Sunny who jumped in surprise at Charlie's angry voice. "Don't give me any shit about being busy! Call me back!" Not saying anything else, she shut the cell phone harshly and stuffed it into a pocket before turning back to Sunny and saying in a normal tone of voice, "Got the voice mail. He'll call back."

"Are you sure?" Sunny asked nervously.

"You just gotta set your foot down with him," Charlie shrugged. "Otherwise he'll run all over you. Give an inch, take a mile, and all that crap."

"Okay," Sunny gulped.

"If he calls me back, I'll tell him you want to talk with him," Charlie said as she turned away. "After that, just wait. He'll find you."

"What if he doesn't call back?" Sunny asked.

"If he doesn't call, he'll come in person," Charlie shrugged as she began walking away. "He's crazy like that."

* * *

Gwendolyn slouched against the abandoned teacher's desk in the abandoned classroom at the back of the school next to the band room, her fellow LESBIANs also looking put out. Cartman wasn't there to annoy them so they were all taking this time after school to be as depressed as they could.

"Why is it that we haven't succeeded in getting just one guy?" Gwendolyn asked out loud, toying with Judge G. Douché's gavel. "We had a list, we were working together, so then why haven't we had one mission accomplished?

"Maybe we aren't trying hard enough?" Bonnie asked, speaking just to speak.

"No, we're trying," Brittany replied, head held up on an arm, elbow propping her up. "Doesn't matter how hard we try, we keep failing again and again."

So what were they doing wrong went the unspoken question. You would think that a group of determined girls anxious to get rid of their status as "single" would have made some headway by now.

Why weren't those boys cooperating? If the fault had to be somewhere, it had to be with the boys. Boys who were so stupid but incredibly sexy at the same time. How could people so appealing to the eye be so dense? It just didn't make any sense!

"Is it because we let Cartman into the group?" a girl asked.

Gwendolyn thought about that. She really didn't have anything to go by that it was Cartman's doing that they were failing so regularly. Cartman had been there from day one; she had no basis to go on how things would have been had he not joined just to get some attention.

He already got enough of it as it is; why'd he need more of it?

"We've tried flirting, we've tried sex appeal, we've tried rigging a ballot," Gwendolyn listed one at a time, their schemes all having backfired with each one that was named. "It's not a question of what we haven't done," Gwendolyn muttered to herself, "it's where we keep going wrong?"

"Is the reason we fail so often because we're trying to force the guys to like us?" Bonnie asked. Immediately, she received bland looks, all of which were saying the same thing.

"_Are you nuts?"_

"That can't be it," Brittany defended. "We force guys to do a lot of stuff all the time. Why would it matter now?"

Good point. If that wasn't it, then what was it? "We're attracted to them; that's all that matters," Gwendolyn stated. "It's like a rule that if a girl likes a guy, the guy has to like her back. It's only a matter of bringing them together and making it a reality."

"But what if two girls like the same guy?" Bonnie wondered out loud, shoot a small glare at Brittany who was paying close attention to her now. Oh yeah, they both knew what the other meant.

"It's obvious, he's got to choose the most deserving girl," Gwendolyn scoffed.

"Yeah, and I'm the most deserving," Brittany added.

"No you're not!" Bonnie shot back indignantly.

"Am so!" Brittany retorted, full-out glaring at the other girl. "Pick someone else. Kenny's mine! Why don't you take Rod Woods; you've already done it with him."

Bonnie looked away, shuddering at the memory.

"Girls! Girls! We can't be fighting like this!" Gwendolyn argued. "It's stuff like this that will break us apart!"

Before she could say anything else, there was a loud knock on the abandoned window. Sighing, Gwendolyn pushed herself up and heading towards the window, opening it and sticking her head out.

"What?" she demanded.

"Do you think you could keep it down?" the Goth with the red streaks in his hair asked with that bland tone of voice of his. "We're trying to get a quickie done over here and hearing you conformists bitching in there is totally killing the mood."

Her face reddening, she squeaked and pulled her head back in, slamming the abandoned window shut behind her. That had been a little too much information.

"Who was it?" someone asked.

"It was the Goths," Gwendolyn said shakily. "Hey, how about we get out of here? Maybe what we need is a change of scenery?"

"Eh, we might think better," Brittany shrugged.

As LESBIANs began to trickle out, the last of them heard odd noises coming from outside the abandoned classroom, suspiciously from where the window was.

* * *

Rod was in a rush so when it came to opening the front door, he wasn't as casual with it as he usually was. Had it not been for the doorstopper, the door would have smacked into the wall and undoubtedly left a hole or at least a spider web of cracks.

Behind him, Brianna was watching him as if he was a bomb just ready to explode and was those keeping a safe distance between them. She was confused by how he was acting, that much was obvious, but really, he wasn't in the frame of mind to care.

There was only one thing he could thing of and he was anticipating it as much as he was dreading it.

Christ, he hadn't done this since…well, it was a long time. No sense getting into specifics.

"Rod, you're starting to scare me," Brianna stated as she followed him into the house, closing the door behind her.

He didn't need to look at her to know that she was awed by how the house looked. While on the outside it looked like any other house in this crappy town, on the inside it was truly the modern home and with style as well.

Not like any of these hicks would know what modern was.

"Upstairs," he commanded, not bothering to reply to her as he led the way up the stairs. He was practically stomping on them but he was more than sure they could handle the abuse. They were inanimate objects; they couldn't feel a damn thing anyway.

"What is this about?" Brianna called to him as she followed. "Rod? Talk to me damn it!"

He was really good at ignoring people, you know? Ignoring Brianna wasn't any different other than what she represented to him…and what he was going to have her do to him very soon. He was taking off his leather jacket as he entered the upstairs hallway, heading for his room with intent. The moment he opened the door to his room, he tossed the jacket onto a chair and began peeling off his tank top. Brianna was staring at him like he had lost his mind, probably figuring out what he wanted her here for.

He had done her, yes, but he hadn't thrown her away like all the others. Even if she was about to protest, he wasn't about to let her leave him. He needed her right now and by God, he would have her.

Instead of going to his dresser drawer where he kept all his usual toys, he went to the closet and seemingly began tossing things out of it. Now, he knew it was in here somewhere. He probably hadn't unpacked it yet even though he should have days after he had moved here. Now where was it?

"Rod, I'm leaving," Brianna stated. "I'm not interested in going another round. You…satisfied me completely the first time. So—"

"Found it!" Rod cheered triumphantly. He held the thick object in hand, straps and buckles dangling from it and clinking against one another. He held it out for Brianna to take but she only looked at it in disgust.

"What the hell is that thing?" she demanded.

When she hadn't taken it, Rod had shrugged and gone back towards his dresser and fished out an unopened condom from one of the drawers. "It's a strap-on," he said matter-of-fact. "I want you to put it on then do me with it." As he finished speaking, he had opened the condom packet and was proceeding to slip it down onto the phallic object that he for some reason possessed.

"Rod. No. I thought this was creepy before. Now, this is beyond creepy," Brianna stated. "I am not going to do whatever the hell it is you want me to do."

"Brianna," he said darkly, towering over her. He reached an arm around her and pushed the bedroom door closed behind her. "I am not going to take 'no' for an answer. Loosen up; you might _enjoy_ it."

"What? Are you?" Brianna retorted.

"Not at all," Rod said as he shoved the object into her hand, making sure she didn't drop it. "This is not going to be like the other times. Whether I want it or not, I need this so be a friend and help me out. I promise you I will _never_ ask you to do something like this again." By now he was unbuttoning the tight leather pants that he always wore, turning his back to Brianna and facing the bed.

"Rod, I don't feel comfortable with all this," Brianna squirmed, doing her best not to touch the strapped phallus as much as possible.

As his boxers dropped, Rod began to prepare himself right in front of her. "There's nothing comfortable about this at all."

"Rod," she tried to protest once more.

"WHAT?" he demanded, turning to face her. Brianna shied away from him, not only intimidated but frightened by how contorted his face was. He was pissed off, no doubt about it, but he looked less like the handsome prick she had come to know. If anything, it made her wonder if she really knew him at all. "This is getting fucking annoying," he growled at her. "At least I'm not doing you myself like last time. You're in…" here he swallowed uncomfortably, "…control…here."

"But what if I don't want to be?" Brianna asked softly.

Rod could only stare at her, not really comprehending what she was saying. She didn't _want_ to be in control? That was a foreign concept to him. Who didn't want to be in control? It was a rush unlike anything you could ever feel. Couldn't she see that he was struggling here? He was giving up his control and that was something didn't do lightly but also something he would willingly do.

"_Mistress? Can you let me go now? Please? I'll be a good boy. I'll be a very good boy."_

Oh damn it was starting to boil over. Now was not the time to start pussy footing over this right now.

"Brianna…please?" he begged her. He backed away and laid himself on his stomach on top of his bed. He reached towards one of the bedposts and brought out the handcuff that was subtly hidden there. With a wince, he closed it over a wrist then reached out to the other side and did the same with the cuff hidden there. "I need this. I really, really _need_ this."

And now here he was, trapping himself in his own trap and displaying himself to the girl. How much further did he need to go to prove to her that this wasn't a matter of choice anymore?

Brianna was biting her lip, her eyes trailing over his muscled form. She was still debating within herself, a good sign since she hadn't said "Fuck this, I'm outta here."

Finally, she sighed and began lowering her lower articles of clothing. As he heard the first buckle click, he relaxed in on himself, knowing that everything was going to be okay again.

* * *

Charlie didn't know how to feel as she arrived back home. On her way back, she had taken a detour and walked by Bain's house. Seeing that there was a lack of something, a tarp-covered car to be exact, she knew that Bain wasn't going to be found any time soon. Where the hell had he gone to this time? He was lucky he was so smart, otherwise he'd be falling back in his school work.

She hated when he pulled these vanishing stunts of his. If he hadn't been such an epic failure at stalking, she would have been concerned that he was close by.

She'd called him up again but only got his voicemail. She left another message and then went on home, not bothering to knock on the Cynis' front door and see if anyone was home. If Bain's car was gone, he was gone too, even if it was just for a maintenance checkup.

She would then have to content herself with another sociopath who, lo and behold, just happened to be staying in the guest room of her own home.

"Fuck off," Damien stated as the door slammed in her face.

Charlie stared at the door for a second before she grimaced in anger. He had not just slammed the door, a door that happened to be in _her_ house, in _her_ face. Grabbing the doorknob, she twisted it and swung the door opened, barging her way in knowing that there was nothing Damien could do to stop her. The Antichrist had looked up from his sullen position on the guest bed though it was his turn to do the grimacing. Whether Charlie knew it or not, she was invoking the power of the medallion that Satan had given her to keep his son in check and now that power was practically squashing him to the bed.

"There are only five people in the world who I will allow to be rude to me," Charlie stated. "Only four are still living and you are not one of them."

"I noticed," Damien grunted.

Charlie pulled up one of the guest chairs and sat in it, her arms crossed over her chest as she glowered at her unwanted houseguest. "I happen to have misplaced a sociopath and since you're the only other one I know, you're going to have to entertain me until that asshole gets back."

"But _you're_ the babysitter," Damien grounded out. "Shouldn't _you_ be the one who's entertaining?"

"What world do you live in?" she replied. "You think I care about rules? I only go with them because it's easy. So make yourself useful for once."

"And what precisely do you want me to do?" Damien hissed, his glare murderous. "There's not much I can do, not with that little talisman you have on. If you were to take it off, I might be able to 'entertain' you."

"Fat chance," she scoffed.

"You're not being very reasonable, mortal."

"Your father didn't come to me and ask me to be reasonable," Charlie retorted. "He gave me a job, I'm doing that job, and I'm going to _finish_ that job, so get with the program or this is going to be a very long year for the both of us."

"Again, what do you want me to do?" Damien demanded.

"Heck if I know," Charlie said. "Tell me about your day. Did a prick piss you off? Something. Anything."

If anything, Damien's dark mood darkened. "I refuse to relate anything to you, babysitter. Just because my father li—chose you for this position doesn't mean I have to spill my most personal thoughts to you like a group of mortal girls do at one of their slumber parties. At least, that's what I think happens at a slumber party."

"You don't know what goes on at a slumber party?" Charlie asked.

"I'm a guy," Damien retorted. "Of course I wouldn't know. The fact that I have male genitalia, thank the Dark Prince, automatically excludes me from having access to such knowledge."

Something about what he said bugged her and after a couple seconds of thought, it struck her. "Wait, 'thank the Dark Prince'? Are you telling me that I've got another sexist asshole on my hands?" Charlie demanded.

"Oh no, I don't discriminate at all," Damien said, his eyes wide in earnest. It was something that didn't fit the hellspawn and only served to make him appear creepier. "In fact, I'm the most accepting person you'll ever meet. You see, I'm an equal-opportunity torturer. I'll shove poisonous cobras up anyone's ass because all asses are the same. I just like being a male for the simple fact that I get to pee standing up."

"Boy you've been screwed. Girls get multiple orgasm," Charlie retorted.

Damein narrowed his eyes at her. "Touché."

"So what?" Charlie asked. "What happens in the day of the life of the Antichrist. I'm curious."

"The usual, finding new ways to torment mortals, offer up lose-lose bargains to the vulnerable," Damien listed off before he sent her a pointed look. "There'd be more if not for one little detail."

Charlie decided to ignore that little barb. Instead, she chose to ask, "So who you try to do that bargain thing with? Was it Cartman?"

Damien's mood soured. Really. She could smell it and it smelt like spoiled milk. Just nasty. Looks like either he had found a new way to irritate her or he had always had this ability which would be interesting. Could Satan figure out what his son's mood was by sniffing him? If so, then he would always be aware when Damien was up to something.

"Open up a window," she complained as she covered her mouth. "Jesus, I don't know how you're doing this but stop it. Did you eat Mexican behind my back?"

"Silence! I will not stand for your insolence," Damien scowled. "Congratulations. You reminded me of how miserable I was five minutes ago. Thanks a lot."

Okay, even this was obvious to Charlie and she had been oblivious of the fact she had had a major crush on Bain. Oh, she knew she had a crush; she just hadn't been aware that it had been a major one.

"What happened?" she asked, attempting to sound like she wanted to help. She figured that it would be best to try and have Damien in a good mood and not have to suffer with him being an emo bitch. "Did something happen?"

"I refuse to speak with you about it," Damien sniffed as he looked away from her, tilting his head up slightly so that his nose was pointed up in the air.

"Well excuse me for trying to have a heart," Charlie rolled her eyes as she pushed herself out of her chair. "If you want to stay in here and pout like a whinny two-year old, no skin off my back."

"Enjoy your heart while you still can," Damien muttered under his breath. "I plan to rip it out soon enough."

* * *

Brianna sat on Rod's couch, down on the first floor and far from where Rod was still in his bedroom. She stared into space, trying to comprehend what had happened half an hour ago. She didn't understand what had possessed her to go along with doing…doing _that_ to Rod. Sure he was a prick but she considered him somewhat of a friend. He didn't treat her like any of those girls who he regularly played and what he had asked her to do had definitely been something that she knew he wouldn't have asked of those other girls.

She tried not to close her eyes because whenever she did, it was like she was teleported back to…_it_, where she was…thrusting…and panting…and talking _dirty_ because Rod asked her to. It seemed like what she considered dirty wasn't up to par with Rod's because he kept demanding her to be dirtier and dirtier.

The things that had come out of her mouth…never in a million years would she have ever thought she'd be capable of saying them. And no, they'd just hadn't been dirty; they had been demeaning, disgusting, and overall deplorable. What kind of person was Rod anyway that that was what he considered dirty talk?

She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself in some bid to comfort herself. It wasn't working.

But what was it that was making her so uncomfortable? Was it the fact that somewhere deep down in the darkest part of her very soul where she herself feared to tread had enjoyed it? That thought produced another shudder. She didn't even want to consider even conceiving of such a thought. Yet she had felt so powerful…so in control…

Was there something wrong with her?

There were thuds, ones similar to the sound of footsteps that were descending a set of stairs as it were. Rod soon appeared, cleaned up and topless with a towel hanging from his neck, a hand holding each end so that the piece of cloth did sway or slip off.

Brianna pointedly looked away, not wanting to be given such a physical reminded of that act. She could feel Rod come to a stop behind and then deliberately leaned over the back of the sofa and hold his head close to hers. She heard him take in a deep breath, as if he was breathing in her very scent. Slowly he exhaled and once he had, he spoke throatily in her ear a single sentence.

"Thanks Brianna; you have no idea what you have given me."

What had she given him? She couldn't figure it out. What kind of path to depravity had he led her to?

Rod pulled away and began whistling a tune as he headed to the kitchen for a snack.

If only it could be that easy for her.

* * *

"Okay girls, I'm going to need your guys' help," Roxi said excitedly as she dragged both Wendy and Mari into her house.

Wendy looked depressed for some reason that Roxi didn't care to press for while Mari was just being…well, Mari.

"Where's the fire?" Mari asked dully.

"There's none. Yet," Roxi said.

"That just oozes confidence, doesn't it?" Mari deadpanned.

"No being the Negative Nancy here," Roxi chided. "For what I need help on, I'm going to need all the positivity I can get. Did you hear that Wendy?" she asked somewhat louder to the other girl who had yet to say anything.

In reply, Wendy merely sighed. Well, that was great motivation there, wasn't it? Bah, she'd come around once Roxi told her about her new project and boy was it a doozy this time!

Mari stared at Wendy too, somewhat put off that someone else was stealing her schtick. You know, Mari was the one who was suppose to be the sarcastic and dark one while Wendy was the leader, genius, and community role model while Roxi was the perverted rebel without a cause.

Clearly, depression was Mari's territory, not Wendy's. Mari guarded her territory quite forcefully.

Roxi was feeling put out just by looking at Wendy so she decided to focus more of her attention on Mari who would be more receptive, i.e. pay attention to what she had to say.

"Mari. Wendy if you're still with us. I really, really, really, really, really, really, really, _really_ need your guys' help," she said loudly. "This is really important to me, okay?"

Roxi watched as Mari tore her attention away from Wendy to give her some of her divided attention. Eh, it was better than none so Roxi took that as a cue to continue.

"I'm going to try and track down Mysterion and unmask him," she stated. "I met him the other night and he said some things that kinda pissed me off. I want to show him that I'm not to be underestimated and—"

"Wait, you mean that he still goes out in that cheap costume?" Mari interrupted. "You've got to be kidding me; he hasn't grown out of that superhero phase yet?"

"What are you talking about?" Roxi asked, confused for a moment before dismissing what Mari had said. "Never mind. So are you guys going to help me? I figure that three heads are better than one."

"You mean two heads," Mari said.

"Huh? What's that suppose to mean?" Roxi asked. "There's three of us, not two."

"Think about it," Mari said dully.

Raising her eyes up, Roxi gave it some thought as she was told and—oh, that had been a low blow there, Mari. A real low blow.

"Are you calling me stupid?" she demanded. "I'll have you know that I've given this a lot of thought Mari. As a matter of principle, I can't let him assume that I'm some kind of damsel in distress that he has to save all the time; I can take care of myself and I need to prove it!"

Mari looked at her thoughtfully. "You said you met him the other night. Did he say something to you that has you fired up?"

Roxi looked away, biting her lip as she recalled what the masked hero had said to her.

_By the way, just so you don't get your hopes up: I don't give Spiderman kisses._

Okay, there had been more but that was the part that was seared into her memory. Guess she had to use some of the stuff she almost vaguely recalled and try and put something together that would appease Mari.

"He told me to stop going out at night and to stay home like a little girl," she stated as she tried to put some contempt into it. "It was like he thought that I'm so much of a burden that he has to—"

"That sounds pretty reasonable," Mari said, interrupting Roxi. "It is dangerous to be walking out in the middle of the night. I was always told that nothing good happens from midnight to four in the morning. Before you say anything, Roxi, tell me this. What are you doing trying to hunt down Kenny McCormick in the middle of the night when there are murderers, rapists, gang members, and Cartman prowling about? I'm having trouble figuring that part out."

"I'm not looking for Kenny!" Roxi exclaimed. "I'm looking for Mysterion!"

"Roxi, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, though not really, but Kenny is Mysterion," Mari said slowly as if she was speaking with a child.

Roxi blinked down at the girl for a moment before snorting. "Yeah right. There's no way in hell Kenny McCormick can be Mysterion. Mysterion is dark, brooding, and dutiful. Kenny is perverted, flighty, and always so happy. There is no way they can be the same person. It has to be someone else."

Mari stared at her and for some reason, Roxi felt like she was being stared at because she had said something stupid. Hmm, nothing of what she had just said sounded stupid. Maybe Mari was just being difficult.

"Whatever," Mari rolled her eyes. "I'm not gonna try and knock some sense into you. I'll let you find out the hard way."

"So you'll help me?" she asked.

"Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever," Mari said. Looking over to Wendy, she added, "You're going to need her help too."

Also looking at Wendy, Roxi said, "But she hasn't said anything since we got here."

"Watch and learn," Mari said as she stood up and approached Wendy. Once in front of the depressed girl, Mari raised her arms then brought her hands together in a violent slap right in front of Wendy's face.

Instinctively, Wendy jerked back and she blinked owlishly as she took in her surroundings, wondering how she got here.

"Back on Earth?" Mari asked. "Good. Roxi, tell her what you told me, 'kay? I'm going to get something to drink so kindly tell me where your folks keep the liquor cabinet."

"We're not allowed to go into that!" Roxi protested.

"And you can't take a joke," Mari said blandly as she headed to the kitchen.

"Um, guys? What's going on?" Wendy asked though there was still that flavor of sadness in her voice.

Roxi looked down at the other girl and sighed. She was going to have to go through the whole story again, wasn't she?


	26. Kyle Takes Care of Business

Author's Note: A little reference to ShadowMajin's _Dragon Quest Z_ was inserted in here more out of the fact that I couldn't resist doing it. Outside of SM, anyone care to guess what it is? Those who figure it out get a chapter dedication next chapter and those with a submitted OC will have their character get at least a spoken sentence.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Kyle Takes Care of Business

Damn he had needed that. The clarity that had returned to him, the reminder of what had brought him to this point, it had served to undo whatever the hell that pale ass bastard had done to him. If he could get that new kid cornered, he was going to beat the absolute shit out of him then show him just what the hell happens when you cross Rod Woods.

Feeling refreshed, Rod had come to school that day with sharp eyes, picking out new prey in which to feast on. He easily spotted those he had already taken and done. A couple piqued his interest but he decided to save them for another time. No, he was on the prowl and he wanted something that would challenge him now, or someone in this case.

As if someone up above was intervening, Rod eyed a couple prospects who happened to be passing one another in the hallway before him. Ah, now he remembered; two prizes he had set his sights on long ago but had yet to snatch up.

Wendy Testaburger and Charlie White. Two vixens who had knowingly or unknowingly stayed beyond reach. Until now. Now he was really going to make an effort. No more mister nice guy. He had played their games but now it was time to change it up and make them play his.

First, he needed information. While he could be impulsive, he knew that there were times you needed to enter a fight with some knowledge on your side. Case in point, Wendy he knew was in a committed relationship with that jerk-off Stan Marsh. Spending a couple months in South Park had given him the chance to find out that beneath that asshole surface, Marsh was just a fucking, tree-hugging pussy. Dumb also. Words would be his greatest weapon to getting around him.

Charlie would be trickier. He had a track record with her, one in which he had been turned down, threatened, and abused. And that was not including that psycho shrimp that followed her around in some pathetic attempt at stalking. Sure there were those rumors about him but Rod rarely put any stock in rumors that were that extreme. Nonetheless, to get Charlie would require more force than words. Words were useless with her which suited him just fine.

It was a bitch using words to get your way into someone's pants. You had to use the right ones or else you were the one screwed and not in the good way either. Sometimes a little smack on the cheek or a choke hold could get you further than any words could.

From what he could see, the two girls that were the objects of his lust seemed different. Wendy looked sad about something even as she was dragged by that friend of hers, Roxi he thought. That was different; she usually looked calm and ready to take on the world, a small smile on her face a form of her determination.

Charlie, meanwhile, looked like she was going through that time of the month. All you guys out there know what he meant. He narrowed his eyes when he saw that asshole new kid walking after her though he looked pissed enough to reenact _High School Slaughterfest in 3D_. Oh if only he could get him alone in an alley… Anyway, Charlie looked pissed off but that had never stopped Rod before.

As a precaution, he waited a couple minutes when Charlie passed out of sight, searching for her other shadow…who did not show up as Rod expected him to. Strange. Was he out sick? If so, that was at least one defense he didn't have to deal with in getting to her. Best to keep an eye out; who knew if that psycho knew he was watching and was in turn watching him?

He turned back to Wendy, thoughts running through his head. She really did look like she needed to talk with someone. He smirked, his eyes twinkling; that someone would have to be him. He would find out her insecurity and then press it.

With a comfortable swagger, he headed off to where he had seen Wendy go, catching up with her when he saw that Roxi chick talking excitedly with that other chick Wendy had introduced him to back in August. Mary, was it? He didn't think that was it but it sounded close enough to him.

Seeing that Roxi did not have a hand on any part of Wendy, like an arm or a shoulder, he swooped in unnoticed, his hands gripping the girl gently by her shoulders and pulling her along with him. He said," Yoink!" out loud as he did so, causing Roxi to stop saying whatever stupid thing she was talking about and to look at the spot where Wendy had once been.

"Hey…" she said as she realized that her friend had been swiped. "Hey! Give her back you…where'd they go?"

Rod was smirking as he steered Wendy down another hallway, releasing her and stuffing his hands in his pockets. Wendy was blinking up at him, a bit slow on what just happened. It didn't take her long, maybe a few seconds, but she figured out what was going on and she gave him a thankful smile.

"Thanks," she said. "It was starting to get a little bit unbearable back there."

"Sure thing," he said, planning on how to speak to her next.

"I love Roxi but she can be a bit…too enthusiastic when it comes to something that she thinks is important," Wendy said. "Once she gets on a roll, she's kinda hard to handle, you know?"

"I'll take your word for that," he said as he looked straight ahead. "Something tells me that wasn't the only thing going on. I saw you walk by earlier and you looked…I don't know, sad?" Even the pause was calculated, all in an attempt to make himself sincere. Boy did she eat it up, like he knew she would.

"I've been under the weather," she said, looking away from him. "I…I'm beginning to think you may have been right. You know, what you said to me the last time we talked."

Of course he remembered. "Your boyfriend's still cheating? Find out who?"

"I don't know if he's cheating and normally I wouldn't care if I saw him chatting with some other girl," Wendy admitted, "but I've seen him throw up on the same girl three times already."

Okay, now he was lost. "What does that have to do with anything?" he asked.

"It's how he shows he likes someone," Wendy explained, not really paying attention to what she was saying. Rod had to suppress another smirk, this time one that was more predatory.

Hmm, so there was another girl that Marsh was interested in. Looks like he would have to follow the ass around until he threw up on that girl again then make a move on her. Oh, he had Marsh's number now. Wendy really should be watching what she was saying. It might give the wrong person an idea or two.

"So he's found someone else that he likes," he said. "Does he…er, throw up on you?"

"Not anymore!" Wendy grumbled, becoming irritated. He could tell that it wasn't him that she was irritated with but Stan. Yes, fan those angry flames. That was going to be the ticket here.

"So then he's moved on," he stated, leaving no room for anything else. "He's looking for a new girl, probably had gone through a few until he found this one, what's her name again?"

"Kyra," Wendy grounded out. "Kyra McCloud."

Looks like he didn't have to go looking for the girl anymore. He had her name; it was only a matter of time until he had her.

"Then he must really like this one," he said, pretending not to notice how angry Wendy was starting to become. "You've seen him throw up on her at least three times. Something tells me there might be more. Like maybe when they're alone and no one else is around. At his house maybe. In his car. The bathroom if he can sneak her into one."

With each suggestion, Wendy's face reddened. Oh she was getting _pissed_. Just a little bit more to push her over the edge.

"I don't know how long this has been going on but if it has been going on for a while, they might have gone…" he trailed off here then said in a hushed whisper that only Wendy could hear, "…_all the way_…"

There were growls but she wasn't quite there. Maybe it was time to cool her off a bit before pushing her all the way off the cliff. Make this worse. That way, that pussy jock was going to squirm.

"Usually when this thing happens, the girl doesn't break up," he said. "Instead, she gets even and the way that they usually do it is by sleeping with someone else."

The redness of Wendy's face receded but this was part of the plan.

"What? Cheat! I couldn't!" Wendy protested. "Just because Stan is…no, that's out of the question! I won't go to his level!"

"So then what else can you do?" Rod asked. "Breaking up isn't really going to send a message, you know."

"Rod, shut the fuck up," Wendy hissed at him. Uh oh, her anger was turning towards him now. Gotta be delicate here.

"You know what, think about it," he said to her. "You know where I live, right? Come by if you want to talk. Just talk. I think we can really come up with something that will show this fucker not to mess with you."

"Yeah. That sounds good," Wendy began to seethe, her anger turning back to where Rod wanted it. Oh yeah, he was good.

"You know how to find me," he said, patting her shoulder. With that, he left her to wallow in her fury that would more than likely bring her to him. In fact, he was counting on it.

Well, one down, now to figure out how to get Charlie. With that Damien kid shadowing her in place of the shrimp, he was going to have to figure out how to get her to ditch him or vice versa.

As he turned into another hallway, wandering aimlessly until the first warning bell rang, he was joined by Brianna. Or at least that's how he would tell you. The reality was that she was standing by her locker with that lost expression on her face, the same she had on after she left yesterday. He had wrapped an arm around her shoulder and led her along as he strolled around the school. She was very passive, not really his type but on occasion it was nice to have someone do what you wanted without question.

"Thank you, Brianna," he said, facing straight ahead like he was seeing into the future instead of a bland hallway. "You have no idea how much you helped me last night."

Brianna said nothing in answer. It concerned him a bit but only for a bit. Eh, if she wasn't talking, that was her problem, not his. He had no idea what was going through her head but she was a bookworm; if anyone could figure out what was going inside her own head it, was her.

Such easy answers to complicated questions.

Giving her a playful shake, he added, "It's good to know that you're there for me. I don't know what I'd be doing if you hadn't helped. Glad to know you're here."

Again, Brianna didn't say anything and again Rod didn't care.

* * *

This was a rare moment.

Kyle wondered what the odds were that he had found Gary without that girl he was always seen with. Not that there was anything wrong with that but it was almost like the two were attached at the hip. There were some rumors that they were seeing one another but from what the Jew could tell, there was nothing.

They were just friends. Really, really good friends. Like he was with Stan. Yeah. Stan.

Yet here he was with someone who definitely wasn't Stan and was the furthest thing from him. However, Gary also seemed to be the kind of person that Kyle would have risked his friendship with Stan if you looked back at earlier events.

That all brought him to this point in time. He was lost. Metaphorically speaking, he was lost and he had no idea what he should be doing. By now he would have unloaded on Gary but he was holding back for the sole reason that Gary looked exhausted. The guy was still smiling but he looked like he was about to keel over.

Thinking back, Kyle remembered how Gary seemed to be holding up everyone, lending a shoulder to any soul in need and asking nothing for himself. It made Kyle a bit self-conscious to be in the presence of someone so self-sacrificing, especially when his own track record wasn't as clear. No, it was murky, murky like swamp water or Stark's Pond in the middle of spring.

Yet here he was with the intention of asking for more from Gary…and he knew that Gary would continue to give.

It made him feel so guilty that he couldn't give anything back.

"You look tense Kyle," Gary said, breaking the silence between the two. "Something on your mind?"

"A lot," Kyle confessed. "But right now it doesn't seem very important anymore."

"Why's that?" Gary asked curiously.

"You look worn to the bone," the redhead told him. "I can't help but feel like I'm doing nothing but taking and taking and here you are giving and giving. I'd like to give something back for all you've done for me but I don't know how I could even begin to repay you."

"You don't have to repay me," Gary said. "I never asked for you to do so. When I started talking with you, I did it with no intention of getting anything out of it, you know?"

"That doesn't do anything to make me feel better," Kyle sighed as he looked away from the blond. "I…I broke up with Damien, recently."

"Oh…I'm sorry to hear that," Gary said consolingly. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Do you want me to?" Kyle replied, looking at the Mormon from the corner of his eye.

That soft smile, the same that could convince even the stoic Craig Tucker into spilling his guts, was his reply. "I'm grateful that you're concerned about me but really, I can handle this," Gary said. "My friend, Kyra, finally told the guy she loves how she feels about him. You don't know how much I had to nag her to get her to that point. She's happy now and that makes me happy."

"But don't you ever want to get something back?" Kyle asked.

"I admit, there are times I do," Gary admitted. "I'm like you Kyle, I'm only human. We all can't be paragons of virtue twenty-four/seven. But I'm going to do the best I can and that's all God can ever ask of me."

"Good to know that even you have your faults," Kyle said wryly.

"I never claimed to not have any," Gary retorted good-naturedly. "Now, back on topic, what happened?"

"If you're sure…" Kyle hazarded.

"Of course I'm sure," Gary said. "If you're so concerned about me, tell you what. Get me an ice cream after school and we can call it even once you tell me your story. Okay?"

"You could ask for anything you want and what you ask for is ice cream?" Kyle asked dryly.

"It's my guilty pleasure," Gary shrugged, giving the Jew a lop-sided smile. "So…?" he prompted.

"Damien…he wanted too much from me," Kyle sighed, the dam breaking. He would not be able to hold back the flood now… "He…he wanted me to stop talking with you. I said no. He told me either I stop or I give up Stan as my best friend."

"You didn't…" Gary whispered, eyes widening. "But…why would you give up your friendship with Stan? You've been friends for years!"

"I didn't give up Stan, Gary," Kyle said quietly.

The blond looked at him, confused. "But you're speaking with me… Wait, is this where…?"

"I told Damien if he made me choose, then I wouldn't be the only one losing someone," Kyle said with a grim smile. "I turned the tables on him and he was the one in the hot seat."

"What did he choose? From his choices?" Gary asked. Even though he didn't know what they were, the blond had assumed that Damien had been given a choice himself.

"If he made me pick, I would break up with him," Kyle told him.

"If you didn't pick…" Gary said, catching on to what the other choice was, "…then why did you still…? Isn't that kinda breaking your deal, whatever it was?"

"I didn't break it because the other choice that Damien had was a temporary separation," Kyle said. "If he made me choose, it would have been permanent, no matter what claims he had on me."

"I see, you twisted it so that Damien had a lose-lose deal," Gary realized.

"Shows him not to underestimate me," Kyle said. "Right now, that's not my problem. The thing is, even though Damien kidnapped me, held me against me will until Stockholm Syndrome happened, interfered with my social life, and was possessive to the extreme…I don't think that I can leave things like this." He raised a hand to cover his mouth and he stared ahead contemplatively.

"Sounds like an unhealthy relationship," Gary commented. "Something's holding you back, like you said. What is it?"

"I think I still like him," Kyle mumbled, his hand muffling his voice. "It scares me. Logically, I should kick him to the curb and go about my way but I don't want to. It's so fucked up no matter how much I try to rationalize it. I want to leave him but I don't want to let him go."

"Emotions aren't subject to logic or reason," Gary told him gently, rubbing Kyle's back soothingly. "What you need to do is get some closure if you really want to leave him. If you don't, and I won't tell you what you should do, then try and see if you can't work out what is the root problem. On some level, you trust him. Not once did you tell me he hurt you, physically at least. I have my own reservations but I'll keep those to myself."

"I'd like to hear them," Kyle grumbled, looking at the Mormon hopefully.

"No can do," Gary laughed. "If you want to work something out, then do so. If not, find someone else if it helps."

"You can do it all, can't you?" Kyle smiled wearily. "Sports, friendship, relationship advice. Is there nothing you cannot do?"

"Drink coffee," Gary shrugged. "Against my religion."

"Among other things," Kyle teased. "Guess I'll try to track Damien down, I suppose. Best to try and get this over with quickly."

"Try not to overanalyze!" Gary called after him. "You might miss something important!"

* * *

Charlie knew this feeling. It was the kind you got when someone was watching you too closely yet you didn't know who. Usually, Charlie knew who the pair of eyes that kept vigil on her were but with the sudden absence of that maniac, she was now clueless as the next person.

Or maybe not. Few people ever watched her like she was slide under a microscope. Bain was number one but that was because he was Bain and a jerk with homicidal tendencies. Number two was typically Christophe but he wasn't in her class right now so he was immediately off the list. Number three was a new addition, Damien, but from the way he was scowling, there was no way it was him.

By process of elimination, she would have to pick number four and guess who that was. It took only a glance to confirm it but that was all she needed to do to figure out it was that asshole Rod. Why he was paying so much attention to her now during one of Gunn's boring ass lectures was anyone's guess but she didn't like it.

There was something different in Rod's eyes, something that made her spine tingle a bit with the memory of her long dead brother. Now that she thought about it, Jack had the same look in his eye that Rod had currently. To any deity out there that might be listening, please don't let her have another Jack on her hands. One was more than enough and she didn't feel like living paranoid again.

It was this phantom paranoia that she was experiencing that was keeping her drooping eyelids from closing and sending her to dreamland. She did not want to go through this again so if anybody out there was listening, stop this shit before it went too far.

Naturally, someone out there enjoyed seeing her suffer and so Rod's gaze continued to haunt her. Damn it, why was time moving so slow now of all days? She swore, she had seen the second hand of the classroom clock tick backwards, that was how slow this class was dragging on.

She peeked another glance and still saw that Rod was still staring at her. How he had not been called out by Gunn, she did not know—wait, was he fucking licking his lips? It was like he was planning on eating her or something.

Cannibalism was where she drew the line. No one was taking a bite out of her if she had anything to say about it!

Glancing back up at the clock, she slightly pouted at the confirmation that time was indeed moving slower than usual. She shot another glance at Gunn…who was at the board with a marker pressed up against it, ready to write something, and yet was snoring quite loudly. Wow, he was so boring that he put himself to sleep while still standing up.

The quiet that still enveloped the classroom was easily explained away by the fact that no one wanted to risk waking Gunn up.

Or at least anyone sane didn't want to wake Gunn up. Beside her, she heard the sudden telltale sign of someone inflating a balloon. She could tell that whoever was doing it was taking his time as each blow of air was long and lazy.

Looking to her side, she gave Damien an incredulous stare while the Antichrist continued to fill his black-colored balloon without a care in the world. Other people were starting to look over at him, wondering what the hell was going on or at least what the hell Damien thought he was doing. Once at sufficient size, Damien pulled the balloon away from his lips, flashing Charlie a mischievous grin as he pressed one of his fingernails against the balloon.

Fingernails, which she would remind you, that were more like claws and just as sharp.

"Kennedy was a fraud!" Gunn blurted out as the loud explosion of air exiting the popped balloon woke him up. "I—wait, eh, what just happened?"

There were a repressed wave of groans and Charlie glared subtly as Damien who was smirking at the distress of the other students. Damn it, he was taking this "being the Antichrist" business too far.

"Where was I?" Gunn grumbled as he peered blearily at the dry erase board that he was still standing at. "Who the hell is Milton? I don't remember…oh." The old man shot a glare at the rest of the class. "You did not just hear me say that."

Nope, everyone was deaf was the consensus.

"I thought so," Gunn growled. "Now, someone tell me where I left off. I've…gotten off track."

Thankfully, as if heaven sent, the bell rang, ending the old man's reign of terror if only for this group of teenagers. While Gunn glared balefully at the intercom, the students were packing up and getting out of there, Charlie among them.

She didn't have to look behind her to know that Damien was following her because what else could he do? He was bound to her, stuck in such a way he couldn't escape. She wasn't completely fine with it because that meant he was always following her around which reminded her about what occurred the last time she had someone doing that.

It wasn't a pleasurable experience then and it wasn't one now. She felt restricted and if there was something she hated, it was being restricted. She liked her freedom, a bit more than most people maybe, but to undermine tha—

"Charlie, may I speak with Damien?" Kyle asked, interrupting her train of thought. She was barely out of the classroom and there the Jew was, waiting for them. She felt rather than saw Damien stiffen behind her but why he did that, she had an idea or two.

Shrugging, she said, "Sure." Looking over at Damien whose eyes were trained solely on Kyle's, she said, "Come to next period when you're done."

"Of course," Damien said mindlessly. Seemed like his attention was more on Kyle than it was on her but she didn't really care. At least now she could get about five minutes of alone time or maybe she could check on what Christophe was up to. It'd been a while since she had last spoken with him.

As she left the two to do whatever it is they were going to do, she mentally added to check up on Rhiannon while she was at it. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't seen her for a couple days. Since Bain was M.I.A., she was sure that nothing of that nature had happened with the rainbow-colored girl.

Now where to start before the bell rung…

She suddenly felt herself being jerked to a side and right into a janitor's closet, the door slamming shut with an ominous thud. She could feel the hands on her arms maneuver to her wrists but at that point she was beginning to struggle.

She had an idea as to who it was and as soon as she knocked his block off, she was going to let the prick have it.

"Stop struggling, it's getting annoying."

Okay, that threw out the previous idea she had. Looks like it was someone else and that someone was that asshole Rod. How had she not seen this one coming?

She was shoved into a shelf and she grimaced as she felt something pressing against her spine in a not-good way. Rod, meanwhile, was pressing his body against hers, pinning her back into the uneven shelves behind her.

"You're a hard one to get a hold of," Rod said, his eyes shining from the dim lighting of the closet. "You always have a freak somewhere close to you; makes it hard to get you alone."

"I think there's a reason for that," she growled, glaring at the bastard. She brought her knee up and when she felt Rod's grip slacken, tore a hand away and used it to slug him right in the middle of his pretty boy face. Rod fell back into the shelves on the other side of the closet, cleaning supplies falling off and landing on him, some of the chemicals bursting out of their containers as they reached the floor.

"Goddamn it, why do you people always go for the nads?" Rod hissed as he clutched himself.

"Because it works," Charlie spat at him. "What do you want, dick?"

"Just you," Rod hummed, having the gall to look her up and down with a pained eye. "How's about a quickie?"

"You are by far the most disgusting person I have ever met," she snarled, kicking a foot into his chin, sending him back onto his ass. "I've lived around the world and I have never met anyone as low as you."

"What about those shrimps?" Rod cracked. "What do you fucking see in them, huh?"

"More than I'll ever see in you," Charlie retorted. She made to get out of that closet just so she could as far from Rod as she could.

Rod, however, seemed to be able to recover quickly as he got up and shoved her into the door, her chest against the wooden barrier. Once again, Rod used his body to pin her against this new surface and Charlie was grounding her teeth together, thinking of all the ways to make this bastard pay.

"You really ought to stop fighting," Rod purred into her ear. "I know you like it rough. Just let me do my thing and I'll make it enjoyable for you. How about that?"

Her answer was to slam her head backwards in a reverse headbutt and this time she felt something give way. Rod pulled away and was clutching at his nose, blood spilling from it. Ooh, she might have broken it. Served him right, the asshole.

"Still playing hard to get?" Rod growled nasally at her. "This is becoming annoying you—"

She didn't let him go further. She was tired of hearing his fucking voice and so she shut him up with the one thing she was good at. Violence. A well placed kick in his chest and he was stumbling back into the back of the janitor's closet, running into mops and buckets and bringing it all down with him as he fell. She sneered at him and shoved the door open, making good of her escape.

Damn it, now she was in an even worse mood. If Gunn hadn't put her in a bad mood already from his poor ass teaching skills, Rod with his perversion had just made it worse. She was going to have to do more than just kick this one around. If Rod was anything like Bain, then he wasn't going to leave her alone until he got what he wanted. She knew what he wanted but she wasn't going to let him have it.

It was mostly because she had principles but she also didn't want Bain to find out and try to kill her. Again.

Christ, why'd she have to get involved with all the fucked up people anyway?

* * *

Kyle had led the Antichrist to his locker where he hoped that the presence of something familiar might embolden him for this latest task. The fact that this was Damien who hadn't taken his eyes off him for a second was more than unnerving.

Unnerving because it was kinda creepy but also because it sent chills up his spine. Not the kind of chills that meant he was afraid; more like the kind that came went you felt good.

"This is unprecedented," Damien spoke first, hands inserted firmly into his pockets. "I always thought when a couple broke up, they tried to avoid one another."

"You've been avoiding me?" Kyle asked wryly.

"Not at all," Damien dismissed with a snort. "Why would I? I'm the one who's _chasing_ after you, pet."

Was it a bad thing that Kyle allowed him to call him that and not correct him? Even with his analytical mind, he couldn't puzzle out the answer but this didn't seem to be the time to do that. He would have to let it go for now and try to get what he was trying to do over with.

"Right," he said. "You can guess why I want to talk with you—"

"No, I can't," Damien interrupted, his lips curling into an impish grin. "Please, tell me why."

"Now you're playing dumb," Kyle retorted. "You know what I want to talk about. I want to talk about our break up." Kyle noticed Damien's left eye twitch but he knew that he needed to press on. "By all rights, I should toss you to the curb and try to get on with my life. Everything about our relationship—"

"Unhealthy, right?" Damien interrupted him again. "How so?"

"Hmm, let me give that some thought," Kyle deadpanned. "What do you think? You forced me into it then when we were together you tried to rule every aspect of it. Now that I think about it, you're only a couple steps away from being one of those domestic abusers, you know, wifebeaters, whatever you want to call them. And don't tell me, you're not going to follow the same pattern and become one, right? I know what the pattern is; you're following the same pattern."

"A pattern that would only apply to me if I was human," Damien replied. "You know very well that I'm anything but."

"But you are evil incarnate," the Jew pointed out. "What assurances could you give me that you wouldn't? Do you really think I'm stupid enough to allow myself to be placed in such a situation and not see what's coming?"

"Smart people like you fall for it every day," Damien said. "I know; I've spoken with a lot of them. I've also tortured them but that's just in my job description."

"Damien, I'm never going to give you another chance if you think you can get away with telling me what to do and who to be friends with," Kyle stated, deciding it was time to play hard ball. "Right now, I could say fuck it and walk away and then you'll be shit out of luck."

"You can't though, can you?" Damien asked, giving him a knowing look. There wasn't the same intensity in that look, the same intensity that made it look like he could peer straight into your soul and know everything about you. Yet it unnerved the Jew a bit as Damien reached out with a hand and cupped his cheek. "You're scared, you want to run away from me, don't you pet? I understand more than you know but you know that I can't give you up Kyle. I know that you enjoy it, the feeling of having someone dominate your life, taking care of all your little needs and satisfying your wants. It's how you lived before and you can adapt to it easily whether you're aware of it or not."

"Are you making a reference to my mother?" Kyle demanded though he felt himself lean into the warmth of Damien's hand. Was he that well trained that he couldn't refuse an affectionate gesture from this guy?

"Of course," Damien answered. "I rather appreciate her, actually. I have no one I could call my mother though my father is woman enough to be one. She reminds me sometimes of, well, me."

"What? Controlling, strict, and self-righteous?" Kyle stated blandly.

"Eh, if the hat fits," Damien shrugged.

"I don't want my mother," Kyle said and he tore himself away from Damien's hand, an ache blossoming in his chest after doing that. He suppressed it just enough so that he wouldn't have to deal with it in the next five minutes. "I want someone who will respect me."

"I do," Damien said, taking his hand back and putting it back into his pocket.

Kyle frowned at him but continued. "I want someone who can give me space when I need it."

"I can do that," Damien shrugged.

"Are you going to speak up to any and all points I make?" Kyle demanded.

"Why not?" Damien challenged. "I'm just proving that I can be what you say you want."

"You mean you're going to change yourself for me?" Kyle asked skeptically.

"I didn't say that, I said that I can be what you want," Damien snorted.

"So which is it?" Kyle pressed. "I don't quite understand what you're telling me."

"What I'm saying, _Kyle_, is that the things you want, I already am," Damien stated as he took a step towards the Jew, shortening the distance between them by at least half. His hands remained in his pockets, though, but that didn't stop Kyle from shivering a bit. "I don't have to change a bit. Neither do you. All you have to do is just 'go with the flow' as you mortals say. Is it such a sin that I want to take care of you?"

"I c-can take care of myself!" Kyle stated, ignoring the stutter.

"Oh, I know you can," Damien replied and was it just him or was that hellspawn purring? An arm extended out and a hand planted itself on the locker behind the Jew. Damien leaned towards him slightly, his red eyes almost glittering. "How else could you survive in a chaotic town such as this one? I picked _you_ for a reason. Many reasons in fact. I like that fire within you; it reminds me of home sometimes. You won't bow down to anyone without a fight and I like that."

Kyle swallowed as his back pressed up against the lockers behind him and Damien's other hand placed itself beside him, trapping him between two demonic arms. He looked away from Damien, searching to see if he could find any potential help in case he needed. He could see a couple people walk slowly by but there was something about it that he couldn't place his finger on.

A forked tongue licked his cheek and he shuddered, memories of other times popping into his head momentarily. He wrestled with them and put them down quickly enough but the damage had been done. He could feel his resolve crumble beneath the easy-going onslaught.

He glanced down at his watch in the hopes of maybe using the school bell as an advantage. Then he did a double-take as he read the time. Two minutes? Only two minutes had passed? That couldn't be right! He looked back over at the slow moving people and took a good look at them. To his utter surprise, he could see them walking like they were in slow-mo, moving but not going anywhere.

"Don't worry, I sent a prayer earlier so that we could have all the time we needed to talk," Damien whispered in his ear, knowing that the Jew had figured out what was going on. "My powers may be inaccessible to me now but an occasional prayer to my father will be answered. You know, he's taken a liking to you as well. Maybe that's why he granted my prayer this time but know we still don't have a lot of time, my pet. I know how you love resolution so try and bring some to this moment."

Kyle pressed his hands against Damien's shoulders and pushed him away a bit if only to get some breathing room. "I want to take it slow," he stated. "Before, I had no choice but to jump into this thing with you. Now I want to do what everybody else does."

"And what is that?" Damien asked, moving in closer again, and resting his head against the Jew's shoulder.

"You know…start off as friends," Kyle said, squirming uncomfortably.

"But we were friends, Kyle," Damien said, taking in a deep breath. It was kinda hard to figure out if he was smelling him or not, something that Kyle didn't want to dwell on at the moment. "Don't you remember? We met online."

"You were deceptive. You didn't have a picture for your icon or anything," Kyle stated.

"I didn't have a flattering picture of myself and I didn't want to stoop as low as those degenerate old men who prey on gullible little girls," Damien replied.

"You couldn't have used your webcam and computer to make a screenshot?"

"Don't have a webcam."

"And you couldn't have used something Satanic?"

"That would be stereotyping. Just because I'm the Antichrist, does that mean that I have to advertise that fact all the time? No, it gets boring and unoriginal at some point. Do you want me to be a stereotype, Kyle?"

"No, it's just…"

Damien pulled away abruptly but he didn't go far. One arm wrapped around the Jew's shoulders while his other hand cupped the back of the Jew's head. The next thing Kyle knew, his ear was being pressed against Damien's chest and he could hear the heartbeat within.

"Do you feel that Kyle?" Damien asked softly. "Can you hear it?"

"Yes," Kyle swallowed.

"Do you know what it means?" Damien continued, not raising his voice a decibel. "Can you tell how fast it's moving? Surprised?"

Kyle nodded his head, his eyes widening a little at a time with each sentence Damien completed. Was he alluding to something? Kyle had a feeling he did, a feeling that was pointing out the obvious to him.

"Do you understand me now, my pet?" Damien asked as he took Kyle's head with both of his hands and tilted upwards until green eyes met red. "No matter how hard you push me away, how far you run from me, how much you try to deny me, I will always follow after you to the farthest recesses of this world and claim you again, no matter how long it takes."

"That sounds so wrong and yet so…sweet," Kyle whispered. "Why can't I…?"

"Because you've had a taste of the devil," Damien chided teasingly, tapping the tip of his nose. "Once you have a taste, you will never have enough. Besides, I know you better than any of these mortals do. I've reached further into you than anybody else has. Beneath all the righteousness, the fury, the morality that you hold yourself to, underneath it all you want someone to dominate you because that's all you really feel safe with.

"Allow me to give you that, my pet. Just give me the word; tell me you'll have me back. Ignore what mortal society says, what that logical brain orders you to do, and trust that gut instinct of yours for once. Who knows, you might like where it takes you."

"Can't…can't I think about this?" Kyle asked, almost in a whimper. "You're…you're confusing me!"

"You're the only one causing yourself to be confused," Damien told him yet nevertheless pulled away from him, giving him some space. As he began to say something else, another sound cut him off.

"HHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAA—"

Both of the boys looked from one another to see Cartman only a few feet away from them, pointing a cubby finger towards them and yet moving so achingly slow. Oh yeah, Kyle remembered, that prayer Damien had mentioned earlier.

"—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA—"

"Honestly, I do not know how you are able to put up with him," Damien commented as he glared subtly at Cartman. "You must have the patience of a saint."

"I don't," Kyle stated bluntly.

"—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFAAAAAAAAAA—"

"You know, this sounds so surreal," Kyle said. "I'm hearing Cartman insult me in slow motion. That's new."

"A shame my powers are so limited," Damien sighed mournfully. "At least I do have something that does _almost_ redeem your species," he added as he began digging into his backpack.

"Oh? What's that?" Kyle asked curiously.

"—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-"

"This!" Damien proclaimed triumphantly. In his hand, he held a sharpie marker like it was the Holy Grail. "The only thing that can best this in a contest of pure awesome is the Unholy Grail."

"What's that? Never heard of it," Kyle said.

"Eh, it's a cup so mysterious that no one's ever heard of it," Damien shrugged. "I don't know all the details but that doesn't matter. What matters is that here is a prime time to get back at your nemesis." He held the marker out to the Jew in offering.

"—AAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGG—"

"You're corrupting me, I just know," Kyle said as he took the marker and over to where Cartman still was. Uncapping it, he drew a little penis on Cartman's cheek, the head of the penis conspicuously close to Cartman's mouth.

"Not bad," Damien chuckled. "Now watch a pro." He took the marker back from Kyle and used it to write on Cartman's forehead.

Kyle frowned as Damien pulled away, staring at the letters Damien had written. "I don't get it," he said at last. "I don't even think some of those are letters."

"Imagine them on a reflective surface," Damien chuckled. "Remember, where I'm from, everything is backwards."

"Backwards, huh?" Kyle muttered as he took Damien's piece of advice into consideration. Then it hit him and he burst out in laughter. "Oh, you didn't!" Kyle crowed as he slapped a knee.

"I did," Damien smirked.

"—GGGGGGGGGSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!"

On Cartman's forehead in reverse were the words: I LIKE COCK.

"Anything else you'd like to do?" Damien asked humbly, holding the marker out again. "I believe we still have a good ten minutes before the prayer wears off and we're back in normal time."

"You bet your skinny ass I do!" Kyle said, snatching the marker back and descending back on the fat boy who was still oblivious to just what was being done to him.

Unbeknownst to Kyle, Damien was smirking at the redhead, eyes nearly gleaming as he set about luring his pet back to his side. Right where he belonged.

* * *

Mari looked up from the notepad and gave a blank stare to the eagerly waiting Roxi.

"Well?" Roxi urged. "What do you think?"

Mari glanced back down at the notepad then back up to Roxi. "I'm thinking that you're not only taking this too far, you're about to need some professional help from the local insane asylum. Roxi, what is going through your head?"

"Hey, don't knock it before you try it," Roxi defended, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You don't have to go that far," Mari stated. "You know, all you have to do is go straight to Kenny and ask him."

"How many times do I have to tell you that Kenny can't be Mysterion," Roxi scoffed. "It's like saying Clark Kent is Superman."

"Clark Kent _is_ Superman," Mari said slowly.

"Whatever," Roxi rolled her eyes. "I haven't seen Kenny anywhere so I can't ask him like you keep saying I should, which I don't think will accomplish anything by the way."

Mari blinked. Kenny wasn't here today. Huh, when was the last time she had seen that blond pervert walking around school anyway? She hadn't seen him yesterday but she had gone days without seeing Kenny around before and yet knew he was in school. Why was it she had the feeling that he hadn't been in school yesterday? Or the day before that?

"So?" Roxi pressed. "Don't you think it looks cool?"

"It looks retarded," Mari said bluntly. "Do you really want to look like Michelle Pfeiffer in a gaudy cat outfit?"

"Yes, yes I do," Roxi answered without shame.

"I think Tim Burton is going to sue somebody," Mari said dryly.

"How else am I going to get Mysterion's attention, and better yet have him respect me?" Roxi demanded.

"You could, I don't know, follow what he told you to do and stay home when it's late at night?" Mari hazard.

"What? And ruin the plot?" Roxi demanded.

"You do know we're not the central plot, right?" Mari asked.

"We might be if there's a sequel," Roxi shot right back. "What better way to ensure a return in the next one than to start developing a potential plot line at the very end of this installment? It's genius, I tell you."

"Genius is another form of insanity," Mari said. "This is insane. Give it up before somebody who's not me gets hurt."

"But I want to be Mysterion's sex kitten," Roxi whined. "Please, you gotta help me!"

"No," Mari said. "It's too much work and no pay."

"But aren't we friends?" Roxi protested.

"Only when you aren't speaking with me."

"That's rude, Mari. Totally rude," Roxi pouted.

"I try."

"I can't even tell if there's any inflections in your words," Roxi complained. "The sub-standard author is being too lazy to give me any kind of hint!"

"What are you talking about?" Mari demanded, wondering what the hell the other girl was talking about.

"Just a passing thought, don't worry about it," Roxi dismissed. "But back to what's really important. I have most of the stuff I need to make this outfit. I need your help to sew it together to make it look cool."

"Why don't you ask Wendy to help? She'd be better than I would and besides, I don't know how to sew shit," Mari said.

"Wendy must be on her period because I tried asking her earlier and she blew me off!" Roxi complained.

"Blew you off?" Mari repeated.

"I know! She's too good of a person to do that," Roxi agreed with Mari's assessment.

"It probably has to do with her boyfriend. Best to stay out of it," Mari shrugged.

"That's what I thought!" Roxi exclaimed. "We're totally on the same wavelength so c'mon and help me out a little. I'll pay you!"

In retrospect, as Mari would eventually learn, she shouldn't have asked, "How much?"


	27. When You Assume

Author's Note: I have just put up a poll, asking for your opinion on who you like as the best OC in this story. Unfortunately, since I have not been able to use every OC that was sent to me, due to my own abilities and no fault of anybody else's, so I have put the condition that each OC used in the poll has to have been in at least four chapters. Coincidentally, you get to vote for four different OCs. So if you have some free time, head over to my author's page and cast a vote.

This chapter did not want to get written. It had to be dragged out of my head so that should account for how short it'll be in comparison to other chapters. If this isn't a sign that things are winding down, I don't know what is. One last note, I had inspiration from ShadowMajin to do this last scene. The twist in roles in it was his idea so credit goes to you, for once. For the rest of you, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park or the various DC and Marvel comic characters.

Warning: language

When You Assume

Whoever that man in the Whistlin' Willy's costume was, he had to be some kind of sadist. Or a control freak. What kind of a person forced you to whistle some crappy tune that not even grade schoolers would like just so you could get your damn pizza? Even though the service at Shakey's sucked, at least when they gave you their crappy food, they didn't make you whistle for it or anything.

Still, it's also a low that in order to get a pizza pie that wasn't Pizza Hut's, you had to go to a restaurant whose clientele was made of eight-year and nine-year olds.

Yet that was how far the great and glorious group of LESBIAN had fallen. Instead of meeting in their usual abandoned classroom, they had come here because some new radical group had taken it from them and all the other abandoned classrooms were taken.

"It sucks to be a LESBIAN," Gwendolyn sighed as she fiddled with the straw in her drink. "You try to do something incredible but all your efforts get diverted to a fat man who's obsessed with other guys sucking on his balls. It's not fucking fair."

"I'm not even one step closer to having Kenny become my boyfriend," Brittany said mournfully.

"Me neither," Bonnie agreed.

"Well, I would be closer if _somebody_ didn't get in my way," Brittany grounded out, glaring balefully at the other girl.

As the argument began to heat up, Gwendolyn did nothing to stop it. The group was falling apart despite her best efforts. Maybe she should have made them pick different targets and refused those who had picked someone already chosen. She smiled to herself as the idea of forcing those who wouldn't agree to different guys to fight to the death to ensure a one girl, one guy policy. Maybe Cartman had been right when he had suggested that during one of their first meetings.

But when it came down to it, the ultimate failure for the group, the very thing that had caused her to form it in the first place, was the fact that she had not made any headway into getting Stan back as her boyfriend. If anything, she was still at square one, Stan-less, and all the while was forced to help these other girls in getting who they wanted. It wasn't fucking fair that her group had been hijacked by a bunch whinny bitches who wanted things their way. This wasn't Burger King for crying out loud!

Perhaps the worst part was the fact that she had been made Homecoming Queen with Timmy as her King, not an experience she enjoyed. At all. She didn't hate Timmy, it was just that he was far from her type. Instead of being one of the most joyous nights of her life, it became one of the longest and not in a good way either.

With another heartfelt sigh, she tuned back in to the argument and found that it had heated up quite a bit. She blinked in surprise as she saw one of the girls practically rip some hair out of another group member and she groaned at the spectacle they were creating.

Damn it, she just didn't have the energy to put a stop to it. She was using too much of it feeling sorry for herself, thank you very much.

"Uh? Girls?" the Whistlin' Willy's mascot asked, coming up to the table nervously. You couldn't tell the sadist in the costume was nervous by sight alone; his voice gave it away. "Could you settle down? You're disturbing the other customers and I'm afraid that if you don't calm down, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

Wow. Very professional. He didn't stutter once.

Gwendolyn wasn't surprised when Whistlin' Willy hightailed it out of there after receiving so many death glares from the pissed off LESBIANs. With their attention distracted from one another for a moment, Gwendolyn once again decided to take charge and at least try and get this get-together under control.

She did not want to get banned from another restaurant again.

"Girls, take it down a notch," she said loudly to the other girls. She didn't put her usual energy into it but hey, she was having an off day. An obvious, Stan-less, off day. Christ this was getting pathetic.

"What? Do you have another plan or something?" Brittany mocked. "I have got to hear this."

"No. No ideas," Gwendolyn said dully. "I'm out. Zilch. Kaput. Nothing."

Now she had an audience of girls who were no longer pissed as much as they were surprised by this piece of news.

"What?" one asked, their voice quivering.

"I got nothing," Gwendolyn stated, feeling irritation welling up within her. What? Why didn't these girls believe her when she said that she was out of ideas?

"But you can't!" Bonnie exclaimed, fearful that the impossible had happened. "You always have ideas!"

"Yeah! What…what about getting Stan?" Brittany picked up, her voice rushed as she spoke the first thing that came to mind, hoping that it would inspire her.

"Used them all helping you," Gwendolyn said bluntly.

There was quiet for a moment and Gwendolyn thought that perhaps now she could get a little quiet even though there were in the middle of a noisy restaurant. She soon found out that perhaps she had thought too soon.

"No wonder we haven't been getting anywhere!" a girl cried out. "All those ideas were for catching _Stan_! How am I going to get Craig's attention if the plan I'm using is suppose to get Stan's?"

There…was a bit of logic there, Gwendolyn found.

"Yeah, you've been sabotaging us from the beginning!" another LESBIAN exploded.

Okay, now Gwendolyn was offended. "I have _not_ been sabotaging anyone!" she snapped. "It's your own faults for failing! Not mine!"

"A likely story, Wendy 2," Brittany growled, her eyes narrowed at Gwendolyn.

"What did you call me?" Gwendolyn demanded, her voice quivering with rage. Oh, like she hadn't heard that name enough already! Come on guys, come up with something original for once!

"I called you Wendy 2," Brittany sneered.

"Oh, it is _on_," Gwendolyn snarled as she stood up quickly, her chair falling over as she threw herself at the fellow LESBIAN.

Gwendolyn was sure that she would have kicked some ass right then and there but she never reached the other girl as a couple of the other LESBIANs intercepted her and held her back even as she gnashed her teeth and flung her head around like a wild animal.

"Let me at her. LET ME AT HER!" Gwendolyn roared as she struggled.

"Calm down Wendy 2!" Bonnie cried out as she embraced the girl's waist, hoping to help in restraining her.

Oh. Oh this was so on now. It was so on that the power button was stuck in the on position and wouldn't flick back to off, that was how on it was.

She tried kicking with her legs but wasn't given much leeway thanks to how low Bonnie was and that her body didn't give her much room. Eventually, she was wrestled back into a chair, not necessarily the one she had knocked over but a chair nonetheless.

"Wendy 2—" Brittany began, stopping for a moment as Gwendolyn tried to break out of the hold the other girls had on her. "—I think I speak for all of us when I say that I think your time as a LESBIAN is coming to an end. Due to the short notice of this, we aren't able to give you a gold Rolex or a can of peanuts but we do wish you the best for whatever endeavors you get involved with."

"You're kicking me out!" Gwendolyn exclaimed. "You can't kick me out! I made this group!"

"It's nothing personal, we just feel that our goals and your goals are a bit conflicting," Brittany tried to downplay. "This is nothing against you; we just feel that it would be better if we went our separate ways."

The following has been edited out for gratuitous and foul language that should not be seen or read coming out of a girl's mouth.

"—with a horse dick!" Gwendolyn finished up, her face red from all the shouting and raging she had done.

The other LESBIANs stared at her, slack-jawed and unable to fully comprehend all the swears and curses their former leader had thrown at them. Each were stunned by how foul and disgusting the previous words had been and really, their mothers were saints and not what Gwendolyn had gone into agonizing detail about.

"What did she say?" Bonnie asked, the only girl who had not heard what Gwendolyn had said as a fellow LESBIAN had quickly covered her ears thus preventing her innocence from being tainted.

"I said," Gwendolyn began to say, more than willing to repeat everything but she soon found her mouth was being covered by the large, fleece hands of the Whistlin' Willy's mascot who had intervened just in the nick of time.

"Boy do you have a filthy mouth," the mascot said cheerfully. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave before someone tries to slap us with a lawsuit. Please, none of you come back for six months or else you leave us no choice but to get restraining orders. Have a nice day!"

And that was Gwendolyn's final day as a LESBIAN.

* * *

Stan grasped the Xbox controller loosely, his eyes firmly trained on the screen and his mouth wide open in disbelief.

He…he couldn't believe it. It just wasn't possible. Yet there it was, the codename of the player that had pwned him and every other person in South Park who played on Xbox Live. Many a time he had been killed and so many times he saw that accursed name pop up, saying that that was who he had been killed by.

It had also been the name of the same player who had given him an invite a couple months ago to play with online and he had accepted it without a thought.

Now here he was, in a gamer's paradise of a living room, with the very player who he had sworn a blood oath to crush while at the same accepted an invite from when it had been thrown his way.

To think that all this time, he and everybody else had been getting their asses handed to them by a _girl_. His manly pride had taken a leap off the nearest cliff in an act of ritual suicide, leaving Stan feeling so inadequate as he sat on Kyra's couch.

Kyra, meanwhile, was focused on the game, sniping any n00b who happened to show up on her screen with such precision and accuracy that even a trained killer would be envious of. All this time and none of them had had a clue…

"Stan, that's the fifth time you've been killed without moving once," Kyra commented as she got another "killimanjaro", not even blinking her eyes once or turning them away from the television screen.

"Oh, right," Stan blinked as he remembered they were in the middle of a game and—holy shit, he was playing with that pwner of a player! And he was a she. And she was sitting in the spot right next to him! And—

"Sixth time, Stan," Kyra said again as his avatar was blown up by a grenade.

Oh goddamn it, he really needed to get the novelty of this situation out of his system if he was to be remotely close to being any help to his partner. As his character respawned, he settled himself, leaned forward a bit and began moving his character from his new location. Picking up a gun, he thought to himself that things were going all right for once and—holy shit, he was playing with that pwner of a player that crushed n00bs like they were—

"Seventh time," Kyra said dully.

Wait, he got killed again? Oh goddamn it!

"Get your act together Stan," Kyra told him calmly. "The rate at which you're being owned is counting against our group score and I will be damned if I don't get first place. Play like you mean it or sign out you pussy."

Okay, that got his attention. He was not going to be called a pussy, especially when it was coming from a girl! Oh, he'd show Kyra just how good he really was! Respawning again, he got down to business, snatching up a sniper rifle and hiding himself in a secure location. Smirking, he began to unleash hell on the n00bs around him and—holy shit, he was playing with that pwner of a player, the same one that crushed all the hopes and dreams of him and his playing buddies and—

"Eighth time."

* * *

Wendy was pissed. That was putting it lightly too. She was fucking infuriated and ready to make any kind of mistake that she knew she would regret in the morning.

Stan was at _her_ house doing who knows what! Wendy knew it was invasive but she had decided to try and get close to the house and see if she couldn't hear anything that was going on. She couldn't believe that they didn't have the decency to do what they were doing in a place more private than a living room!

Six times! That was how many times Stan had done his business before Wendy decided to bail. Sure she was fired up enough to go to the front door and bang on it, demanding to see Stan but no, that wasn't what she was going to do.

She had never thought Stan would have it in him. Cheating, on her no less! Why did she have to follow them back to Kyra's house? Why didn't she turn around and go home, wait it out while having her ignorance remain intact? Why did she have to eavesdrop on them and then stay there while the two grunted with every move they made? Where was Captain Hindsight? And six times? Really? And so quickly? Stan never recovered that quickly for her! Then again, he was never that _quick_ with her either.

She was sure her heart was breaking but her rage was bandage enough to prevent her from feeling it. She hadn't wanted to believe it, nor did she want to acknowledge the fact that Rod had been right. He had been right this whole time.

She needed to talk with someone. That's what she needed to do. And since Rod had been on her mind a second ago, she remembered his invitation to talk. He better not try and pull anything on her. At this point, she was more than willing to fire another rocket into the sun, its passenger being the first person to push her off her rocker.

It took some walking around the town she knew so well before she managed to find Rod's house. Not checking to see if anybody might be home first, she rang on the doorbell impatiently, alternating to pounding on the door then back to the bell. Five seconds had passed and no one had answered; this was taking much too long for her tastes. She tried the doorknob and frowned when it resisted her. The door was locked and no one was answering. Damn it, she was going to have to find somebody else, wasn't she?

She wondered what Roxi and Mari were up to…

There was a click and a sliding sound, soon followed by the door opening as a bare-chested Rod met her gaze, the taller blond looking at her curiously.

"Wendy. What brings you here?" Rod asked her. It seemed like he had forgotten his invitation to talk. Not that Wendy was going to let him back out of it now.

She shoved her way passed him, not caring to take in the coldness of the modern-decorated home. She could feel Rod's eyes on her, wondering what she thought she was doing. Damn it, the cluelessness was getting to her.

"Rod, we need to talk," she stated as she spun around to face him, arms crossed over her chest.

Rod looked spooked for a second, most likely from hearing the four words that every man dreaded to hear. However, he recovered and shut the door behind him, giving her his full, undivided attention. "Shoot."

Okay, now was the hard part. How was she going to put into words the things she had overheard a while ago and still maintain her calm composure? Well, first off, how else would someone start? Easy, they'd talk about something else that had no relation to what they were really here for. At least, that was what Wendy's brain reasoned. Seeing that Rod was still shirtless, she decided to start there.

"Where's your shirt?" she asked.

Rod gave her a dubious look. "You came to my place, said we needed to talk, and the thing you want to talk about is where my shirt is?"

Okay, when you put it like that, it sounded stupid but Wendy was more in favor of batting around the bush first. "Humor me."

"I was working out," Rod said slowly, as if he was speaking to a child ten years younger than her. "It gets too hot if you were doing something for too long while wearing one."

Now that he had pointed that out, she noticed that there were sweat droplets trailing down his upper body. Huh, wonder how she missed those.

"I don't think this is why you came here," Rod stated. There wasn't accusation to be heard in his voice, at least not yet, but Wendy was on guard, waiting for the next shoe to fall. "What's really on your mind, Wendy? Let me guess, it has something to do with Stan, doesn't it?"

Damn, he saw right through her. How was it that the guy with the most questionable morals was the one to figure her out when the guy she had been dating off and on for close to ten years had trouble remembering her birthday? It just didn't seem fair.

"You know what, take a seat," Rod said as he led her over to a leather couch. "Try and get your thoughts together; I'll get something to drink. Is there anything you'd like?"

"Water," she said automatically, staring ahead as she frowned, not necessarily looking at Rod.

"Sure thing," Rod chuckled, flashing her a grin as he left.

It was only now that she was alone that she began to think that maybe this wasn't such a good idea. She had dropped in without notice and had barged in without permission, even though he had told her to come over whenever she wanted. She thought for a moment that perhaps she was overreacting. Perhaps there might be another explanation for what Stan was doing with that girl. However, her gut kept telling her that she wasn't imagining things, not at all, and that she was in the right to be pissed off. Sure, Stan had never cheated on her before in all their years in an on-again, off-again relationship but just because he hadn't cheated before didn't mean that he wouldn't. Had he been seduced or was he tired of her but too chicken shit to break it off?

"_Voila_," Rod declared as he handed her a glass, water close to the brim. "Drink up, there's plenty more where that came from."

"You're not impressing anyone using French words around here," Wendy replied, taking the glass and sipping from it.

"Like I care about that," Rod rolled his eyes, taking a seat close to her. She slid over a bit, uncomfortable with their proximity. "So what brings you here? Something happen between you and Stan?"

Right where they had left off, huh? Noticing the way he was looking at her with that penetrating stare of his, her discomfort only seemed to increase. For a second, she thought about leaving, getting away before something happened. However, because she couldn't pinpoint anything wrong that would prompt her to try and get away, she squashed that train of thought. As if Rod would hurt her despite the fact he was a prick.

Anyway, since he had asked, she might as well tell him.

"I finally caught him," she seethed, her grip on her glass tightening. "I saw him walking with that girl, Kyra, so I followed them back to her place. I knew I should have walked away, maybe called Stan up but I wanted to see what was going on. The blinds were down but I could still hear them. Six times. They did it six times in almost fifteen minutes."

Rod blinked at her. "Wow. So you're telling me that Stan is…? You know. Easily excitable?"

"He can't be. We've done it before," Wendy stated. "He can go a _long_ time."

"Maybe they were doing something else?" Rod suggested though it looked like he had said something he disagreed with. "I mean, six times in fifteen minutes? There's barely enough time for a guy to recover once!"

"There were grunts and groans and Stan was swearing the whole time," Wendy tried to defend though now that she had said it out loud, six times in fifteen minutes was ridiculous.

"What if…no, this might seem stupid," Rod began but then stopped himself.

"What?" she asked, curious despite herself.

"What if…what if that was how many times _she came_?" Rod said out loud, looking upwards in contemplation. "Girls do get multiple orgasms, right?"

Wow. She hadn't thought of it that way. Counting in Stan's stamina, due to his athletic career, it would make more sense that it was six times _that girl_ came in one bout of intercourse that lasted fifteen minutes that them having sex six separate times in fifteen minutes.

…but…Stan never made _her_ come six times in one round…

Rod seemed to have picked up on her thoughts because he began speaking as if he knew just what she was thinking. "It makes more sense, doesn't it? I'd imagine that this Kyra girl would be new to doing it and with someone as experienced as Stan, he could do it a long time and make her come who knows how many times before he does. It hurts, doesn't it? Hurts that he would do a thing behind your back."

There was a loud breaking sound, followed by something wet landing in her lap. Wendy looked down in surprise as she saw that she had just broken the glass she had been holding, water drenching both her and the sofa. Large shards of glass remained in her hand but she could see that some blood was starting to leak out. She watched it almost clinically, fascinated by the crimson that began to spread its stain.

"Shit! Are you all right?" Rod exclaimed as he took her hand and pried it open. "Christ, you cut yourself up!" He looked around quickly, searching for something to try and stem up the bleeding but finding nothing. "Hold on, I'll be back in a sec."

And then he was gone but Wendy found that in her frame of mind, she didn't really care. As quickly as he had left, Rod was back, wrapping a small towel around her hand after clearing away some of the glass that remained in it.

"Jeez, that looks bad," Rod swore. "Are you okay? Wendy? Can you hear me?"

She was numb but just beneath the surface, her anger was boiling. Oh she was angry; angry at herself for trusting that bastard Stan, angry at Stan for betraying her like this, angry that a dick like Rod had been right, angry that it was this same dick who seemed to be the only one who cared.

It just didn't seem fair. It wasn't fair at all.

"Fucking Helen Keller," Rod growled under his breath, probably not caring that he was insulting her. That didn't stop him from picking her up bridal style, doing his best to avoid placing his bare feet on any shards of glass, and taking her away from the couch, heading for the stairs.

* * *

Mari was pissed but then again, that must have had to do with the fact that she had pricked her finger again for the fiftieth fucking time. She couldn't even yell out in angered pain because she was holding some spare sewing parts with her teeth and she did not want to drop those.

She had told Roxi she didn't know shit about sewing but that hadn't stopped the girl from forcing her into this position.

How much indeed. Whatever Roxi was paying her, it was too little!

"How's it going? How's it going?" Roxi demanded as she bounced from foot to foot in excitement. "Is it almost done? Is it?"

No, no it wasn't almost done. It wasn't even a tenth of the way done! She threw a glare at the other girl who was completely oblivious to the venom being sent in her direction.

"Come on! Hurry it up Mari!" Roxi complained. "There's only so I much can do with creating an alter ego and deepening my voice so that no one can possibly recognize me."

Oh, and that was hard work, huh? Well excuse her for being pissed off at having to sew up an outfit made of discarded leather without knowing the first thing about stitching!

"I bet I could finish this thing in ten minutes," Roxi continued to complain.

Really? You could? Well then, don't let her stand in your way. Here! Take this crap and make it yourself!

"What are you doing? I can't sew!" Roxi exclaimed, pushing away the proffered outfit.

Funny, neither could she.

"Where the hell is Wendy?" Roxi groaned as she spun around on her heel and began pacing up and down the room like a caged cougar.

Another good question that didn't seem relevant, did it? Though, Mari did wonder where the dark-haired valedictorian was, she wasn't as concerned as her counterpart over here. Finally, she took the sewing tools out of her mouth, one at a time so that she wouldn't lose them in haste.

"I've said this before. I'm going to say it again later. But right now, I'll say it one more time. This is a bad idea," Mari stated.

"How the hell is it a bad idea, Mari?" Roxi demanded, taking her turn at being the glaring one. "There's no better plan to get Mysterion's attention than by dressing up as a rival vigilante who swears to fight crime and deliver justice into a crime-ridden city."

"Uh yeah, you could stage a fake crime with you as a victim," Mari suggested blandly.

"Mari, that is the stupidest thing I have ever heard," Roxi retorted.

"This coming from the would-be masked crime fighter who hasn't come up with a name for herself?" Mari shot back.

"I've already know what I'm going to call myself!" Roxi said smugly. "Since I'm going to look like a cat, I'll call myself…Catwoman!"

The room was silent.

"Copyright infringement," Mari stated.

"What? How can it be copyright infringement?" Roxi demanded. "It's a perfectly original—"

"DC Comics. Have you not seen _Batman Returns_?" Mari interrupted. "Besides, they're using that same character in next year's _Dark Knight Rises_."

"Huh. Really?" Roxi asked, slightly interested before she physically shook her head, trying to get back on track. "Alright, _fine_, if that's the way you want to play it. How about…the Black Cat?"

"Marvel Comics," Mari said.

"How about Mary Jane."

"First of all, that's an illegal drug. Second, Marvel Comics."

"Huntress."

"DC Comics."

"Jessica Biel."

"She's a real person, dumbass."

"Electra."

"Marvel Comics and God help you if the next name you say is Jennifer Gardner."

"How'd you know what I was going to say next?"

"Ugh…anything else?"

"Panther."

"That's a guy's name."

"How would you know that?"

"I just _know_."

"What about Cheetara?"

"Thundercats."

"Cheetah?"

"DC Comics, and she's also a _bad guy_, not the hero you're trying to be."

"Goddamn, this is hard work," Roxi muttered as she pressed a hand into her face.

"You might want to move away from cheetahs," Mari suggested. "This is black leather, no spots on it."

"I didn't think this was going to be so hard," Roxi moaned.

"Well, you could use the fake crime idea," Mari pointed out.

"No way!" Roxi exclaimed, fire in her eyes. "That's too lame! I'm not going to be a damsel in distress! No more!"

Mari sighed, attempting to go back to her crappy sewing. Perhaps this would prevent her from contracting idiocy.

* * *

"There, nothing some Band-Aids and Neosporin can't fix!" Rod said cheerfully.

Wendy stared blandly at her hand where a bunch of Band-Aids nearly made moving her fingers a chore. Didn't he have any of the big ones? You know, that covered more than half an inch?

She was still in that dulled mindset where she was just going along with anything that Rod did or said. It was easier to go along with the blond than to think of her boyfriend, soon to be ex-boyfriend, and his infidelity. It was just better to stay out of it, stay out of reality, than to face it head on.

It was the coward's way but Wendy never claimed to be brave.

"You've been quiet," Rod commented as he sloppily put away the first aid kit. "Something still on your mind? Gotta be that thing with your boyfriend."

"Can you shut up for a minute?" Wendy snapped at him. She wasn't as intimidating as she sounded but who would be when you were sitting on a closed toilet seat?

"Hey, hey, don't bite my head off," Rod admonished, holding his hands up. "I'm just a bit worried, that's all."

She snorted but said nothing else as she stared ahead. Okay, so her passion hadn't been completely doused. She still had some strength within her. She would get through this and she would survive to see another day. Things were going to be okay.

There would be life after Stan. There always had been before. Right. She could feel her spirit buoy up with each reassurance she gave herself and she knew that she was going to be all right.

"Sorry Rod," she sighed, not looking at the guy. Well, if she wanted to be on the road to healthy singlehood, first thing was first, she had to make sure that she hadn't imposed herself on the person who had come to her aid. "I know I haven't been the best lately and you have so patient with me. I'm thankful, really, no matter what I say that may sound to the contrary. It's just…I'm just so angry! How could Stan do this to me?"

"How? He just did," Rod shrugged. "You can do your best to try and reason out what happened but the fact is you'll never really know. Why do people cheat? There are so many reasons that are given that no one will really know the reason why."

"Wow, I didn't expect to hear that from you," Wendy said wryly.

"I read a lot," Rod replied, giving her a lazy smile.

"You don't seem the type to sit down and read a good book every now and then," Wendy continued to tease.

"Well, you do know what happens when you assume," Rod chuckled, his eyes darkening slightly.

"Make an ass out of you and me? Like I haven't heard that one before," Wendy scoffed goodheartedly. "That one's so old, there's moss growing on it."

"Can't blame me for using the stuff I grew up with," Rod replied as he scooped her off the toilet seat and carried her out of the bathroom, Wendy giggling at the unnecessary action. It was sweet but totally unnecessary.

"What are you doing?" she laughed, endlessly amused.

"Just taking us to somewhere more comfortable," Rod answered her, pushing open a door with his foot and taking them in.

Behind them, the door shut.

* * *

"Charlie! There's someone at the door for you!" came the call, interrupting Charlie's private time with everyone's favorite drug addicted detective. Stella always did have bad timing, especially when it came to whenever she was reading another adventure of Sherlock Holmes.

Whenever the spell that Sir Conan Arthur Doyle weaved with his words was broken, Charlie tended to be a bit disgruntled. Didn't matter who it was, interrupting her time with Sherlock rarely went unpunished.

"Who is it? Tell them I'm busy!" she shouted back from her room, not bothering to get up. She needed her private time damn it! Private time away from the sociopaths and assholes she tended to find herself hanging out with. At this rate, she'd lose her mind and go on a homicidal rampage that would make Bain proud.

"It's some girl!" Stella shouted back. A girl? What the hell was she going to do with another girl? Was it Rhiannon? Did Skittles get herself into trouble again?

"Which girl are you talking about!" she shouted. "I know too damn many," she grumbled to herself.

"She has God awful pink hair and it looks like she got into a fight with a weed whacker and lost!"

Pink hair? Weed whacker? Fought and lost? What the hell was Stella talking about? Grumbling, she set Sherlock aside and made her way out of her room, heading downstairs to where her uncalled for guest awaited. This had better be important or she swore to God or Satan or whoever else was out there and listening that if this wasn't good, she was going to—

Oh, it was that Sunny girl again. How'd she know where she lived? The pink-haired girl stood just outside the front door, looking uncomfortable as she shifted her weight from side to side. A couple feet away, Stella gave Charlie a bland look, one so uninterested that the older sister was sure that the younger would have preferred to be anywhere but here.

"I'll handle this," Charlie sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Stella shrugged and left, not even saying a word. That left Charlie with the person who resembled a shaking leaf and she probably already knew what she was doing here.

"Let me guess, you're here for Bain," she stated, getting straight to the point. Really, it was obvious; Charlie had been noticing that the girl was keeping watch on her lately, waiting for the time when that prick of a boyfriend was going to show up.

Speaking of that prick, she had yet to hear anything from him. Whatever it was that he was up to this time, he was operating under radio silence and Charlie found herself a bit worried. Not that she would ever admit that she was but still, the least the asshole could do was call her to say he was all right, what he was doing was none of her business, and that she wouldn't find him, he'd find her.

You know, the usual exchange that was filled with name-calling and impossible demands.

Wasn't that what marriage was called?

Sunny swallowed, too uneasy around the more outgoing personality that was Charlie White. "Is he around?" the girl asked nervously, her voice oh-so-quiet. Really, if Charlie hadn't had sharp hearing, she wouldn't have heard her at all.

"The answer's still no and he hasn't contacted me yet," Charlie stated in a tone that said she had said the same thing before dozens of times. What was she, Bain's secretary? That asshole better make this up to her.

"He hasn't?" Sunny bit her lip, looking away as if she was debating something in her head.

Before the other girl could say anything, Charlie said, "Yes, I'll be sure to tell him you're looking for him. No I won't forget; I see you practically every day now, how can I forget?"

"Oh? You will?" Sunny asked hopefully. Damn, this was getting old. They were practically starting to repeat themselves, verbatim almost.

"Yes I will, do you want fries with that?" Charlie stated dully.

"Um…no?" Sunny said hesitantly.

"If there's nothing else, goodbye," Charlie said as she shut the door in the girl's face just as she had done the day before and the day before that.

Bad enough she was starting to get another stalker though at least this one wasn't obsessed with her. Too bad she was stalking another person who had a habit stalking her so that meant…that her stalker had a stalker? Only in fucking South Park was this logical.

As she made her way up the stairs, she recalled that at one point she had thought it had been Rhiannon at the door. Now that she had reminded herself of this, she wondered where the rainbow-colored girl was and for that matter, why she hadn't heard from Christophe in a while.

They were friends, right? What could they possibly be doing that would keep them from contacting her?

* * *

"Zo…zhes es 'ow you treat friends," Christopher said as he stared up at the ceiling, his eyes somewhat overloaded with sensation. He didn't know what to feel and when you were in such a state, it was best not to concentrate on certain emotions.

You might miss something.

Besides him, Rhiannon smoked a cigarette, looking absolutely fucking pleased with herself. Though she coughed periodically, a sign that she rarely if ever smoked, it didn't stop her from letting out a few large puffs of spent nicotine in the air.

Around them, clothes littered the place with no order to their placement (such as the bra that dangled from the ceiling fan or the pants that were lounging on top of a lamp) and the only thing that covered their bodies was a thin bedsheet.

If you were thinking that something very adult-oriented happened here, you would be right.

"Wanna go again?" Rhiannon suggested, her voice hoarse from trying to withstand her after-sex smoke.

Christophe let his head roll to a side, given the girl a blank stare. Then his lips curled upwards.

"Do you 'ave to ask?" he chided, his teasing nature returning to him.

What difference was one more round going to make?


	28. Dealing with Fiends

Author's Note: In comparison to last chapter, this one came out pretty quickly. So to commemorate the return to school and the end of summer, here is a chapter that should make the transition of losing freedom easier. The poll of the most popular OC in Fiends is still up which when end after the final chapter is posted, which is coming up pretty soon actually. Better get to it guys. Enjoy.

P.S. Just found out that the poll wasn't showing up on my profile. My bad. I've corrected that mistake as of 11 a.m. it has not shown up on my profile page yet. Maybe give it a little time and it'll show up. If not, I'll think of another way to do this.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, violence

Dealing with Fiends

Wendy didn't know how to feel other than exhausted. It had been so sudden; one moment she had been laughing, held up in Rod's arms, the next he was attacking her mouth and tearing her clothes off.

After that…

Ahem, enough of that train of thought, what happened had happened and here she was feeling so tired yet so satisfied in a way she had never felt before. She idly eyed the markings on her wrists, impressions of the cuffs that had dug into her skin throughout their activities. They'd fade away in time but for now they were physical reminders of what she had just done.

Rod tugged her blouse back on, still nipping at the side of her neck even as he finished redressing her. That peaked hat of his sat precariously on the top of his head and it served to make him more boyish than anything. Why anyone would wear such a thing was beyond her but hey, everybody has their quirks.

Funny, she was so upset just a while ago and now she was so calm and content.

This should have been Stan's job, she thought bitterly, something that lasted for only a moment until she was distracted by Rod pulling away from her, ceasing his ministrations.

"You were so worth it," he purred into her ear and she had to resist a shudder that ran up her spine. If only she wasn't so tired…

"You were so kinky," she replied in good humor. "Almost crossed a line once or twice."

"So sue me," Rod said as he pulled back entirely, the guy dressed only in loose-fitting pants and a tank top.

"For what? Giving me a good time?" she teased.

"I'd plead guilty as charge," he shot back. "Thought you were fine before but now…I can't believe I waited so long before making a move. Oh well, we made up for lost time, right?"

That reminded her of what she had been pissed about before. Right. Stan had betrayed her and cheated…but then here she was cheating on him. Well, if he hadn't been interested in that other girl, none of this would have happened, she justified to herself. She was in too much of a good mood that just the thought of Stan's infidelity couldn't pull her down. Oh she was going to slap him with this when she next saw him; she couldn't wait to see his face when she dropped the bomb that not only did she know what was going on but that she had decided to give him a taste of his own medicine.

How'd he like them apples? Heh, she was going to use that line too.

"So where are you off to?" Rod asked lazily as he watched her get up from her seat on his bed and smoothed away the wrinkles in her outfit. His eyes remained focused on her form but she didn't pay any attention to that as she had more important things on her mind.

"I'm going to find out where Stan is holed up," she told him as she squared her shoulders. "I'm going to give him a piece of my mind and put an end to this 'relationship' we have, whatever it could be called that is. I don't know if there is a name for it anymore. You still going to be here?"

"Naturally," Rod answered. "Poor guy, doesn't know what's going to hit him."

"You bet he won't," Wendy agreed, eyes lit up with determination.

Rod closed his eyes and shook his head. "I find it kinda sad, you know."

"Sad? I think justice would be better," she said, turning her head around just enough to look at him.

"No, I think sad is right," Rod disagreed, cracking his green eyes open to peer at her. "The guy has no clue that his girlfriend just cheated on him for no reason whatsoever."

"What?" Wendy stared at Rod, not really understanding what he was talking about. Now that she was taking a good look at him, she noticed Rod seemed a bit…different than before. There was something about him, something that was unsettling to her.

"I know, everybody knows, that Stan Marsh is too much of a pussy to even _think_ of trying to cheat on you," Rod said, his eyes opening wider and capturing hers with an almost hypnotic power. "I looked into that Kyra girl you told me about and then looked at how Stan and her acted with one another. She likes him, it's obvious, but Stan won't let her do anything more than a hug and even then it only lasts for two seconds. Hardly anything to suggest there's something else going on.

"Plus, I overheard them once and they were talking about his gay buddy not talking with him. I think you'd have more competition from Kyle than you would her. I mean, really, you know this guy for how long and you don't know that he's the kind of guy who's faithful to a fault? For such a smart chick, you are so _dumb_."

Wendy felt her heart sinking but she tried to deny what he was saying. He had been the one to suggest they were cheating! Why was he saying differently now?

"You made it so easy, you know?" Rod continued. "Anybody with eyesight, hell, even a _blind man_ could tell you were jealous with this girl just being ten feet away from him. I just say, with nothing to back me up, that he's cheating and you took the bait hook, line, and sinker!"

"You lied to me?" Wendy exclaimed as it all came crashing down upon her.

"Duh!" Rod snarked, flashing her a grin that did nothing to comfort her.

Her anger made a resurgence and she threw himself at him, more than willing to tear him apart even if she had to rip pieces of his skin off one at a time. Rod laughed as he rolled out of the way, Wendy catching herself on his bed but then he was back, throwing himself on top of her and squashing her into the mattress. There was no gentleness here even as she squirmed and shrieked at him, swearing to castrate him with a rusty knife.

Rod's large hand grabbed the back of her head and the next thing she knew, her face was being smothered in the bedcovers as Rod shoved her head down into the mattress. She was having a hard time breathing and even though she struggled harder, her strength was beginning to leave her body as the lack of oxygen began to get to her.

A flash in her mind's eye, a visage of a crushed Stan, his face pained with real betrayal and not the fake kind that Wendy had experienced. She, in a misguided rage, had hurt one of the few people she knew that she shouldn't hurt. What kind of a person was she that she could do such a thing…?

"Nope, nope, can't have you blacking out on me." Her head was pulled back and she gasped harshly, the rush of air filling her lungs and giving her that much needed burst of life that she needed to live. As she panted and gasped, she felt her hands being snatched and pinned against her back, rendering her more helpless than she was before.

Hot breath ticked her ear as Rod, secured her with his strength alone, not seeking the aid of the cuffs that she knew were attached somewhere on this bed. Oh God, why did she let herself be fooled by this guy?

"This is nothing personal," Rod said. "To be honest, I like you. You're gullible, yes, sexy as hell, no doubt, and I really do think there could be something between us."

"There'll never be anything between us!" she snarled.

"Hush, I'm speaking," Rod admonished as he twisted her head slightly, discomforting her further. "Now, the one thing I didn't like was that you had something for that asshole, Stan. Anything to make that guy hurt, I'll do it. Hearing about his girlfriend cheating on him would hurt him a lot, don't'cha think?"

"You wouldn't?" Wendy gasped, her eyes widening. "You'd…?"

"Tell him? In a heartbeat," Rod confirmed. "But! I'm not going to do that."

Again, Wendy was confused and she made it known to him. "What?"

"I have you where I want you," Rod told her smugly. "I have something over your head, something I can tell anybody about at any time to the right people. In less than a day, everyone at school will know, Stan will find out and ask if it's true and I can see you not being able to say it's all a lie. You can try but from the way I've heard that guy obsess about you, I'd think he'd know when you were lying and when you weren't."

He was making good points. All he had to do was tell the gossip queens at school, two of whom were part of the small entourage of girls he usually had around him, and it would all be over. However, she was not about to give up without a fight. She couldn't let him win, not this way.

"What if I choose to get rid of you first?" she challenged. "What if I happen to contact some Arab friends of mine who would be more than happy to put you in a rocket and shoot you into the sun?"

"Bad move Wendy," Rod grinned predatorily at her. "Shouldn't have told me that. It makes me nervous and when I get nervous, I try to do something that will relax me. Tearing your clothes off again and having my way with you, again, whether you want it or not will relax me just fine. Care to tempt me?"

"Are you saying you'd rape me?" Wendy exclaimed, her eyes widening.

"Depends," Rod said. "Want to try me?"

No, no she didn't but she couldn't look weak in front of him. "I don't think you have the balls," she sneered.

"Oh, I have balls, huge ones that you know about already," Rod replied. "Did I ever mention I recover quickly? Five minutes tends to be the longest it takes me to recover. Last I checked, it's been over five minutes; I'm ready to go whether you are or not."

If he was bluffing, he was doing a good job at it. The way he was talking about it suggested he had done this sort of thing before…and she wasn't ready to tempt fate anymore. As much as she wanted to scream and shout, claw out his eyes, and tear off his dick, she was not in the position to be able to do any of those things and Rod was physically too strong for her. Psychological attacks would only make things worse for her as he'd probably take his anger out on her while she was still vulnerable and within his power.

She was going to have to give in if she didn't want to risk further harm.

"What do you want me to do?" she finally asked, conceding defeat.

"Simple. I want you to break up with your boyfriend," Rod stated, smirking at the back of her head.

"Why? So you can date me?" she asked sarcastically.

"Why do you think it's about you?" Rod asked rhetorically. "I don't care about that, about dating you or anybody else. I just want to hurt Stan."

"That's it?" Wendy asked. He was making her break up with Stan just to hurt him? Why? What reason did he have?

"I just don't like the prick," Rod shrugged. "I don't care what you have to do or what you have to say, just break up with him and try to do it in the most devastating way you can. If you don't, I'll give you both a good reason to break up with full, gory details. Either he only suffers or you get burned too."

"I can't," she said, trying one last time to resist. "I won't!"

She squeaked as Rod added pressure to her arms, pulling them up against her back, raising them towards her neck slightly. "Don't make this any harder Wendy. Just say yes and get it over with."

She whimpered, to her shame, but she threw her head side to side, giving him a negative answer. Suddenly, Rod left her, releasing her from his hold. She gasped, letting out a surge of pained breath at the instant relief. Then she heard something click open and her heart began to sink as she heard a series of beeps. Rod was calling someone.

Shit!

As best as she could, she spun around, flipping herself onto her back and watched in terror as Rod placed the receiver of his cell phone to his ear. Oh crap, crap! She launched herself from her place on the bed, throwing herself at Rod who moved out of the way as if he had been expecting that.

"No Rod! Don't!" she pleaded.

"I told you what would happen," he shrugged. "First ring."

Double shit! Her eyes widened as she realized that not only had his phone reached the one he was calling but that in the next couple of seconds, someone would be picking up, most likely between the second and third rings. She had to act fast. She had to…had to…

"Alright, I do it," she said, slumping in defeat as Rod smirked at her, snapping the phone shut before his call could be picked up.

"Great," he said. "Just make it good."

* * *

Maybe because it was the Rockies but the air here was much fresher that in the west and to the north. Or maybe it was because this was home and home always smelled better than any place else.

Nevertheless, he was back and he was a man on a mission. A week up in Oregon flew by pretty quickly but the goldmine of information he had gotten his hands on was more than worth the hassles of airport security.

Bain was back in Colorado and speeding back towards South Park with only one thing on his mind, one sole objective at the forefront of his attention.

It was time for him to claim another victim and this one would definitely be a trophy.

He chuckled darkly, thinking back at the airport where he had ditched his unwilling ally. No sense not getting a head start, especially since Mysterion knew exactly what he knew and was more than willing to turn his prey in to the higher authorities. He couldn't have that, not at all.

Rod Woods would be his and all he knew was that he had better not have laid a finger on what was his.

Before him, the sun set behind the monolithic Rockies, darkness trailing behind him in his wake.

* * *

"I swear, the next time I see him, I will tear that bastard apart," Mysterion seethed to himself, his hands pressed up against a wall and his pants around his ankles as he was approached from behind by a TSA agent pulling on a long latex glove.

"You think yer so tough with your costume and mask, don't'cha boy?" the agent sneered. "I think a full body cavity search is exactly what you need."

Fucking disgruntled TSA agents.

* * *

The invite had been unexpected and when Charlie had picked up the phone, expecting it to be someone else and to tell them off, she had almost turned it down. Almost. Feeling a bit of that cabin fever, she decided that tonight would be as good of a night to go out on the town with the only two people in town that she trusted as her friends.

Naturally, Christophe had given her an excuse that the two had been on some covert operation to explain why he or Rhiannon hadn't been hanging around her recently but she could read between the lines. Covert operation indeed.

As Christophe drove them to the town's single club, Rhiannon in the front seat, Charlie sat in the back with Damien sitting across from her and sulking. Yeah, she wasn't about to leave him alone with her family for an indeterminable amount of time so she was dragging him along. She doubted that his father would hold it against her; it wasn't like she was corrupting his nonexistent innocence or anything.

"Explain to me what the point of heading out to some party center filled with hormonal mortals, hazardous recreational drugs, and music that is being played too loud constitutes as a 'fun time,'" Damien demanded as he slumped in his seat. If it hadn't been for the scowl, Charlie would have thought he was pouting.

"When you put it like that, you make it sound like we're intentionally trying to torture you," Charlie said dryly. "I was told to show you how to be a mortal, a direct quote from your dad by the way, and this is how mortals behave. Very stupidly."

"While we're on ze topic of explanations, would you care to explain to me why we are bringing zis _charming_ guest wiz us?" Christophe asked, aiming a look at the rearview mirror so that he could shoot Charlie a look without taking his eyes off the road.

"No, I wouldn't," Charlie answered.

"Well, at least he's not as bad as Bain," Rhiannon said, trying to lift the mood a bit.

"No, I'm worse," Damien corrected, boring gleaming red eyes into the rainbow girl. "I find it insulting that you would compare me to any mortal you might know."

"Damien, stop with the dramatics," Charlie ordered, knowing full well that the Antichrist had to obey her. "And while I'm at it, don't do anything to destroy the club. I'd like to go back to it again."

"Killjoy," Damien muttered, his scowl deepening.

"I'll do more than that if you try to test me," Charlie replied, not sparing a glance at the demonic-looking teen.

"You're pretty heavy-handed, no?" Christophe said teasingly. "Remind me to call you up whenever I need a sitter."

"Christophe, I swear if you do that, I'll spoil the bastards and make them worse of a problem," Charlie retorted.

"Such a cruel mistress you are."

"Damn fucking straight," Charlie muttered, looking out the car window, watching as buildings and cars whizzed by. Huh, none of them were an ominous yet familiar black…

She shook her head. Damn it, she was letting Bain's absence get to her. Well, if he was going to be a dick and not even call her, then fuck him. She was going to at least try and cheer herself up whether he liked it or not! Deep in her thoughts, she did not notice Damien eying her slyly, his mouth split in a crooked grin that blatantly stated he was up to something.

That something was soon announced the moment he said quickly, "Not the designated driver, one, two, three, not it!"

"Not it," Christophe picked up second.

"Not it," Rhiannon took third.

Only just becoming aware that a "not it" contest had been instigated, Charlie tried to get hers in only to realize that she was the last one at the last second. "Not—damn. Wait, what?"

Damien chuckled. "It's good to know that you're so responsible, Charlie. At least now the rest of us can get intoxicated out of our minds while safe in the knowledge that you'll be there to take us all home."

Aw—aww! She was planning on getting wasted! What the hell happened? What—Damien, she should have known.

"Do over!" she protested.

"Sorry Charlie, you lost," Rhiannon shrugged, not at all apologetic.

"I'll kill you all in your sleep," Charlie growled. Don't think she wasn't going to not go through with the threat. Smothering was looking like a real good option right about now.

* * *

Asshole bouncer at the door? Check. Loud, vibrating music? Check. Bad overhead lighting that was only moderately helped by various blacklight fixtures? Check. Well-stocked bar with all the alcohol needed to supply a roomful of clubgoers? Check. Well-stocked bar filled with alcohol Charlie couldn't touch? Double-effing-check.

They were here and she was not happy. All she had to hydrate herself was orange soda and there was no way you could get a buzz from that. Thank you Damien, once again you have screwed humanity over. Congratulations.

She sighed as she laid her head on her crossed arms. Sure, she hadn't come here expecting to have a good time but she had definitely expected to be less inhibited by now.

Christophe and Rhiannon were gone, at least from her sight, but she had a pretty good idea of where they were. Those two, however, were not her concern. Who was, on the other hand, was on the other side of the bar itself and she didn't think that Damien should be flirting with those two girls over there. Sure they were dark and dressed in Goth crap but last she had been aware, he was already in a committed relationship.

Would suck to be him if his hubby or whatever the term that was used by kids these days was found out about this.

Another sigh; too bad she couldn't flirt. Then again, she had never been the type to do that though it looked like fun depending on what mood she was in. It was a moot point, especially since Bain would kill her if she tried to look at anyone else. The things she did to protect the rest of society. She'd better earn a freaking medal when she died.

She lifted her head up, peering at a full glass of orange soda that had been placed right in front of her. She knew she had heard something just now and as she raised her head higher, she noticed that the bartender was in front of her, shooting her a sympathetic look before he turned away to fix some other drunk's drink. For some reason, he seemed familiar to her but she shrugged it away, not really caring about it. So what? Just because he looked familiar didn't mean it was important or anything, right?

Apparently, the bartender thought differently than her.

"You know, I vaguely remember serving a girl who looked kinda like you a few months ago. February or March, I don't really remember, it could have been last year's March for all I know, but anyway, back then when I asked her if she was in any trouble, she told me that she was crushing on a psycho."

She vaguely recalled that experience. Yes, no, maybe, sort of, kinda? "You're going to have to be more specific than that," she muttered as she picked up the fresh glass and took a couple large gulps of it, the acidity of the drink slightly burning her throat but man was it the right kind of spike that she needed. Wasn't as sharp as say something alcoholic but it was the next best thing.

"Well, we had karaoke that night and man, she had the most beautiful voice I ever heard," the bartender elaborated, actually carefully thinking out his answer. She could tell he was putting some effort into it; he was really recalling and not bullshitting her. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, she didn't know but she decided to come clean.

"Yeah, that was me," she said hoarsely, holding up a hand like she was asking permission to answer a question in class. Yeah, it was coming back to her. Music, karaoke, a girl who she later learned was Bain's older sister. Oh, and don't forget about the little skirmish she had. Oh yeah, and she had punched the shit out of his face. Really lost her composure back then but could you blame her for losing it when he had insulted her family?

"Good to know. So how did things go with the psycho?" the bartender asked.

"I'm dating him. I swear, we act more like a married couple than anything," she told him.

"Eh, I hear marriage is pretty violent too," the bartender shrugged.

"Threats, knives, and homicides would be natural?" Charlie raised an eyebrow.

"Sounds like a normal marriage to me."

"Damn it, and he hasn't proposed yet," she sighed.

"How about getting something stronger?" the bartender suggested. "It looks like you could really use one."

"My friends," she spat out, "tricked me and made me the designated driver."

"Ooh, I can see why you might be on edge," the bartender said sympathetically.

"You think?" she said back sarcastically. "Ugh, this is going to be a bad night."

"It happens to the best of us," the bartender said wistfully. "I mean, look at me. I'm surrounded by booze but can't have a drop of it for myself. It can always be worse, you know."

"Yeah, well, you'd better get back to your job," she replied, looking away. "You have to take care of some other drunk bastards now," she added, gesturing to a small group that was making their way to the bar.

"So what else is new," the bartender shrugged as he went to…tend his bar. That left Charlie by her lonesome again and damn was this depressing.

She could spy out Christophe and Rhiannon among the dance crowd and she looked on enviously. They certainly were having fun; why couldn't she? She was too sober to make a fool of herself out there so she remained seated. Glancing back over where she had last seen Damien, she noted that he was gone, probably off doing whatever it was Antichrists did when they weren't making her miserable.

Maybe she should say screw it and have a drink. Just one. That way, by the time they left, most of it would be out of her system. Yeah, that would show those assholes for messing with her.

She tensed up as she felt someone rest an arm on her shoulder and her eyes narrowed as she peeked at who it was from the corner of her eye.

"Didn't expect to see you here," Rod greeted, giving her a leer. "I didn't take you for the type that likes coming to these kinds of places."

"Funny, I always took you for the type that lived here," she shot back, not in the mood for the usual games. "This should be your second home."

"It would be but I'm on house arrest right now," Rod replied, not removing his arm from her. That was something she was going to have to correct in about ten, nine, eight… "Still, what the folks don't know won't hurt them. It's not like they actually live here."

…Seven, six…

"I've noticed that your shrimps aren't anywhere nearby," Rod said, trying to revive a conversation that was dead before it had begun. "Looking to get away from them? I don't blame you."

…Five, four, three…

Aw, he moved his arm. Bastard, she was this close from losing her temper and tearing the damn thing off.

"What're you drinking? Looks like a screwdriver," Rod said, snatching up her half-drunk orange soda and giving it a sniff. "Funny, it doesn't smell like booze."

"You got two seconds to put that back," she said, more than willing to restart the countdown. …Two…

"Whatever." Once again, Rod defied her temper and put the glass back down without tasting it. "How's about we split? You don't look like you're having a good time and I think I could fix that."

"Only in your dreams," she scoffed. "Do you think I forgot what you tried to do in that janitor's closet? Please, I'm not stupid."

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that," Rod sighed. His arm was around her shoulders again but before she could start up her countdown from where she had left off, she felt Rod slide a hand up her shirt. However, it wasn't just his hand that was up there; there was something long, thin, and if she was correct, sharp as well. This asshole didn't just pull out a knife on her…

"Let's take this outside," Rod said into her ear, his hot breath washing over it. "No sense making a scene in here."

"Alright," she agreed. Normally, she wouldn't care about taking Rod down in such a crowded place but it was easier to fight someone with a knife when you had some elbow room. Rod had no idea what he was getting himself into, she smiled to herself grimly. Back in the day when she and Bain would fight head-to-head, it was almost guaranteed that he would pull a knife out on her. She had more experience handling a knife-wielder than most mercenaries did and boy did she have a bunch of tricks up her sleeve.

A few minutes later, they were out of the club, Rod pressed up to her side to conceal the knife he was threatening her with and Charlie calm as the heavens above. No one really paid them any attention; they both looked the part of a drunk couple who was heading out early with the possibility of someone getting lucky. All they received was a drive safely and here they were about a block from the club.

By now, Charlie knew that she could easily neutralize Rod and put an end to this bullshit but she wanted to let him believe he was in control for a couple more minutes. She always got a thrill at seeing the faces of would-be assaulters who tried to threaten her only for her to turn the tables around and show them who was really the boss.

The fingers of her left hand brushed against the scar that was on her palm, a reminded that she needed to be careful. If she wasn't, there was going to be more than a scar she was going to have to be worried about.

Rod looked around, making sure no one was paying attention to them before he pushed Charlie down into a nearby alley, taking her into the maze that was the back alleys of downtown South Park.

"Oh, what's this?" Charlie asked snarkily. "A dark alley, middle of the night, and no one around? If this doesn't tell me you're going to try and rape me, I don't know what does."

"You know," Rod began as he spun her around, shoving her into a dumpster and pressing his knife against her neck, "if you had just let me do you earlier, we wouldn't be here. So just shut up, don't try and call for help, and let me get what I want so I can go along my way."

"You make it sound like I'm the one inconveniencing you," Charlie stated blandly.

"Duh," Rod spat, rolling his eyes.

It was that moment of distraction that Charlie took her chance. She grabbed hold of the hand Rod was using to hold the knife and pinched down on the segment of skin between his thumb and pointer finger, striking the nerve that was there.

"Aw shit!" Rod exclaimed, the knife slipping through his fingers as his hand was nulled by the shot of pain that zoomed up his arm. He pulled back his other hand and swung it at Charlie, trying to backslap her but Charlie ducked by sliding down against the dumpster, causing Rod to hit the metal surface instead of her. "Fuck!" he cried out as he pulled both of his hands back to himself.

Charlie shoulder tackled him in his stomach, pushing him back and away from her. She then dropped into a crouch and swung her leg around in an arc, kicking Rod's legs out from under him and forcing him to fall.

As his back slammed onto the ground, Charlie threw herself above him and let gravity take hold. As she landed atop of the potential rapist, she delivered a pile driver with her elbow right into his stomach causing Rod to raise his upper body upwards as air was forced out of his lungs, his eyes bulging from the pain she was inflicting.

She threw her other arm back and threw a devastating punch right into Rod's face, his head snapping backwards and hitting the concrete of the alley ground with a crunch. She didn't stop as she landed punch after punch until flecks of blood began dotting her face.

Panting, she pushed herself off and away from Rod who was gasping for air despite the amount of pain he should be in. As she got to her feet, she had the overwhelming urge to kick him.

She was never one to deny herself so that's what she did.

"Fucking bastard," she spat at him. "You think I'm like all those other floozies out there? Guess again you motherfucker! My sister could put up a better fight than you! _Bain_, a guy who is _half your size_, lasted longer that you did just now! By all fucking rights I should snap your fucking neck and leave you here to rot!"

Rod turned onto his side, spitting out a glob of blood and curled in on himself. How pathetic.

"You a man?" she laughed almost maniacally. "You're not even a fucking boy. My dog is more of a man than you are. I really should kill your ass right now but I won't. That would just end your suffering and I rather have you walk around with the knowledge that you had your ass handed to you by a girl."

"Fucking…cunt…" Rod managed to spit out. His green eyes were glaring up at her but she was far from intimidated. She had seen glares from Bain, Damien, and Christophe who had better ones. Hell, she was more afraid of her mother's which were infinitely more terrifying than any of those just mentioned.

"What? Embarrassed?" she taunted. "How's about this? Meet me tomorrow night at nine at the old construction site and we'll settle this. I'll kick your ass again but at the very least I should give you a fighting chance."

"At that ugly looking place? Fine," Rod grunted. "You just…surprised me here. I'll fucking show you what I'm made of."

"What? Tiny balls? A short dick?" Charlie retorted. "I'll let you keep your balls tonight; you'll need the testosterone if you want to last a minute with me."

With that, she kicked him in the face, nearly knocking him unconscious. She didn't want him unconscious; otherwise, how would he feel the pain? Looking back at the dumpster, she walked back over towards it and picked up Rod's dropped knife, testing its heft before turning back towards Rod.

"Mind if I give this to my boyfriend? I bet he'd keep it as a trophy," she sneered, tucking the weapon away and leaving the balled up bastard behind.

Damn this night had gotten worse. Fuck being the designated driver, she needed a drink.

* * *

Light glowed from the window, illuminating the outdoors barely.

Slowly, rising from within the window, the silhouette of woman clad in a tight-fitting outfit that from a distance looked solid black. The silhouette stretched long arms out and bent its body, exposing curves that would have any hot-blooded male panting or at least pulling at their collars to relieve an unexpected influx of heat.

The silhouette "mmmed" and moaned in slight pleasure, raising its arms above its head, hands clasped together in yet another stretch but this time it had something to say.

"Mmmmm…I don't know about you but this kitty is feeling _good_," the silhouette purred.

"Roxi, stopped plagiarizing Tim Burton before he finds out and sues you," Mari interrupted the display, snapping the silhouette of the costumed Roxi from her dramatic display of transformation. "Seriously, you need to start coming up with your own original themes. Really."

Roxi's silhouette placed her hands on her hips and seemed to scowl at something that was not revealed by the light coming through the window. "Mari! Why do you keep ruining my moments? You're becoming a Negative Nancy, I swear!"

* * *

It took a while for Rod to pull himself out of his misery enough to get back on his unsteady feet and limp out of the back alley and towards his car. He hadn't expected the bitch to be this tough and damn it all, he had been in such a good mood from manipulating Wendy earlier.

The high was gone and here he was dirty but not in a good way. Tomorrow…tomorrow at that eyesore of a construction site he was going to get her. He was going to beat her and then he was going to fuck her. If he had to break the bones in her arms and legs to do it, that was what he was going to do.

He swore as he reached his car, walking around it and into the street where the driver's side was. Damn it, just some more unnecessary steps to take before he could get somewhere safe. He dug into his jacket pocket, searching for the elusive car keys, continuing to swear when he had to inspect the other one when he couldn't find them.

Suddenly, a light flashed upon him from behind and he froze. Slowly, he turned his head around and looked down the street where a car waited about half a block away from him. The headlights were especially powerful and nearly blinded him just by looking directly at them. He held a hand up to shield his eyes and squinted them, trying to look at where the windshield was.

His blood turned cold as the car's engine revved and the car began speeding towards him, picking up speed with each second.

Someone was trying to run his over, he realized. Acting as quickly as he could with his aching body, he threw himself over the hood of his car, rolling against the aluminum surface as the charging car raced passed.

It had been close and that car had nearly taken off the left side mirror, it had been that close. In the middle of the roll, Rod had gotten a look at the side of the speeding car and saw the passenger side front window had been lowered and he could see the driver within. Cold eyes glared at him, promising nothing but torment and agonizing death. Those eyes were gone in an instant, along with the rest of the car that tore down the street before making a sharp turn and disappearing from all sight.

Rod clutched at his chest, his hand over his heart which was pounding at what seemed a thousand times a second. He let himself collapse completely against the hood of his mother's car and stared straight up at the starry sky above as he tried his best to forget those nightmarish eyes.

He had to be hallucinating, he had to be. If he wasn't, then he had just nearly been killed by that shrimp, Bain.

* * *

Speaking of the shrimp, Bain had been quite peeved when he found that his competition had been trying to intrude on his territory that night but instead of intervening like a hero would, he held back and waited, knowing full well that Charlotte wouldn't be held down by some rookie.

He had enjoyed the reversed assault and then retreated to the recesses of his vehicle, waiting for a chance to strike at the pretty boy. He found his chance when Rod tried to open his car and had attempted to run him over.

He hadn't expected to hit him but scaring him? Now that had been his aim. A little message to tell him to back off. From there he had returned home, knowing that trying to reach Charlotte tonight and in the mood she was in would not be constructive for anyone. Sure he could have gone back and abducted the little bastard but no, let Charlotte have her fun first.

She seemed so stressed back there. A little opportunity to release some steam ought to make it easier for him to take whatever abuse she had waiting for him. Still, that following morning had him strolling towards her house long before Charlie's deadline for Rod. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he had been missing her…

Right. Him missing anyone. What a riot.

Instead of driving over, he decided to walk and surprise her. Plus, whether he would admit it or not, he had missed how clean the air was up here than it was back in Oregon. Sure Oregon was pristine but he had spent most of his time in a crowded city and there was this pureness that he had only found in the Colorado air.

Maybe he should rethink leaving the state once he had graduated.

It took some time to reach Charlotte's house, somewhere between fifteen and twenty minutes. He blamed his parents for it; they had to pick the one house that was surrounded by old people though how were they to know that most families would be picking a different section of the residential zones? No matter, it was still their fault and was it him or was it getting colder?

Winter was undoubtedly on its way. Most people would already find it cold; a native in the Rockies found it only mildly chilly. He was a native and he directed you to the previous sentence if you were curious if he was affected by the chill or not.

Soon enough, he reached Charlotte's house and with a smirk walked up to the front door, pressing on the doorbell as he came to a stop. He couldn't wait to see her face when she saw him; it was something he had been looking forward to ever since he got on the plane back to Colorado.

Imagine his disappointment when her mother answered. Sure she looked surprised but it wasn't the face he wanted to see that expression on. Oh well, it was just delaying his gratification, that was all.

"Is your daughter home?" he asked, pausing for a moment before adding, "Your oldest daughter, I mean. Charlotte."

"She stepped out for a bit," Charlotte's mother said slowly. "I can tell her you came by when she gets back."

Hmm, so she wasn't here. Maybe this was better…

"I can wait in her room," he replied. "She has to come back sometime. If it's only for a bit, she should be back momentarily."

The woman blinked at him before shrugging and opening the door wider for him, allowing him to enter. "It's your life."

Indeed it was and Bain entered, letting the woman of the house close up behind him while he took to the stairs, heading straight for Charlotte's room. The heat of the building was quite nice, a real contrast to the colder outdoors. Reaching the second floor, he paused to recall where exactly Charlotte's room was, deciding to just check each room until he found the one that fit her best.

He didn't have to open the first door; it had opened by itself, an unexpected turn of events peering out at him with red eyes that were natural yet unnatural at the same time. Bain came to a stop, trading look for look with Damien…whatever his last name was, refusing to break the stare-off between the two.

Finally, Bain spat out, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"I'm staying here," Damien replied matter-of-factly. "Have a problem with that, mortal?"

"Many problems," Bain retorted. "Just the knowledge of you being within a mile of her is a problem. I'm more than tempted to put a permanent end to it."

"Go ahead. Kill me," Damien sneered at him. Bain prevented himself from wincing at how high that high-pitched voice got. It was as if he was trying to be annoying without trying, if that made any sense. "My father would be very displeased once I show up back home, so much so that he might want to pay you a visit. Unlike my babysitter here, he does not hold you in high esteem."

Bain clenched his fists but didn't make a move at Damien. He calmed himself down, trying not to rise to the Antichrist's bait. He needed to be clear-headed here; there was plenty he could use against this newest opponent and most of it didn't require him to lift a finger.

Smirking, he said, "Maybe so…but does the one you have your eye on also hold you in high esteem? I wonder what he would do if he ever found out that it was you who had the old basketball court demolished for a home that would never be built. What disguise did your father use to convince those developers to destroy that little park anyway?"

"How do you know about that?" Damien hissed.

"I'm not stupid," Bain said dryly. "I saw you watching Broflovski and Gary playing hoops and I also saw how jealous you got. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that you had the court destroyed so that your boytoy wouldn't get any ideas of turning towards your only competition in this town. I don't care what goes on between the residential Jew and you. You stay out of my business and I'll stay out of yours."

"You may be smart but you're not smart enough to get one over me," Damien stated challengingly. "Mock me now while you can; it won't be long before the tables are turned."

"Mock you?" Bain scoffed. "That would require energy, more than what I'm willing to give to you. Go back to whatever hole you crawled out of and stay there. I have bigger fish to fry."

"If you're speaking about Rod, then your standards are twisted," Damien said.

"If it isn't the pot calling the kettle black," Bain drawled. "My standards are just fine. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a role that I need to fulfill, that of the babysitter's guy friend who happens to show up after the folks have left to bone said sitter."

A bit crudely put but he had the feeling that using longer, complicated words would have been too much for Damien's limited capacity to cognitively understand him. He passed over two rooms in the meantime, identifying one as belonging to Tammy, the true autocrat of this family and another one that just didn't have the _feel_ of Charlotte.

That left two other rooms that he had yet to check and if he was correct, the layout of this house would be similar to his and every other one in this town. One had to be the master bedroom so…it would have to be this one…

Jackpot.

The movie poster for the Sherlock Holmes movie starring Robert Downy Jr. was the big giveaway for him as there was no one else in this house who had such a fascination with such a fictional character like the English private eye. A bit cluttered but easy to maneuver in, that was Charlotte's style.

He took a seat in a chair, picking up the large anthology of Sherlock Holmes stories, flipping through the book idly if only to waste some time. There was nothing quite like reading the day away that made time fly by. Leaning back, he stopped at a familiar tale he had read a long time ago but didn't really recall. All he remembered from that story was Sherlock disguising himself as the 1800s version of a beggar and chatting with a boy who happened to be focus of this caper.

How much time had passed since he had arrived, he did not know but it didn't really matter as the door to the room swung open and Charlotte came in, closing the door behind her and removing her footwear, sinking to the floor in exhaustion. That was certainly odd, she hadn't noticed him yet.

Might as well take advantage of this opportunity; she had a lot of explaining to do…

"Bad day?"

The shriek he got out of her was so worth it.

* * *

Where was everybody? Stan frowned as he set his phone down, frustration building up inside of him.

Kyle wasn't picking up, he couldn't reach Kenny, Wendy was cagey and for some reason doing her best not to meet with him, and Cartman was…Cartman. He'd have to be dead or close to it to consider asking Cartman of all people to hang out with.

Something was wrong, he could feel it. His friends hadn't been this distant from him in a long time though he couldn't blame them for last time. This time, he wasn't aware that anything had changed recently. There wasn't an epidemic of cynicism, a sex toy shop hadn't opened up recently, and there hadn't been a lethal strain of PMS in months.

So what was up? It wasn't his birthday coming up so there was no reason for anybody to avoid him. He could call Kyra up but he felt that he had imposed on her too much yesterday. Was it his fault that he was easily distracted by the fact that he was playing side by side with one of the best gamers he had ever known?

No, he hadn't thought so.

So what now? There was no school to torture him and yet no one was around to hang out with him? This was utter bullcrap.

For a second, he had wondered if he shouldn't call Gary the Mormon, see what he was up to. He didn't know, maybe they could patch things up and possibly have the friendship that the blond had wanted back in the fourth grade? They could talk and he could tell Gary of all his problems and Gary would be there to help him out and everything…

Wow. That had sounded gay. Like, super gay. Like mega, ultra gay. Like a bunch of men getting naked together in a pile and having sex with one another gay.

And he was Stan Marsh, the straightest son of a bitch this side of Colorado.

Eh, let's see what Craig and those guys were up to.

* * *

Bain straightened himself up, adjusting his trenchcoat back onto his form while behind him, Charlotte was finishing with her own outfit.

The past couple of hours…just wow. He hadn't expected that kind of reception nor had he expected such a wild beast to attack him. He consciously put a hand up to his neck, covering the dark splotches that discolored his skin. They certainly hadn't been there _before_…

"Leaving already?" Bain swore, he could feel the pout Charlotte was shooting at his back. He knew well enough not to turn around and face her. He had heard of this tactic before and he had sworn years ago that he would not fall prey to it.

If Charlotte thought she could best him in psychological warfare, she was…she was…shit, he had forgotten the reason why he had come to her house in the first place. Confronting her over her house guest hadn't been the reason but the fact she hadn't told him about it or her deal with the devil had been on the forefront of his brain at the time.

Damn that Antichrist for distracting him.

"Don't worry, you'll be seeing me soon enough," he said. "I need you at my house this evening, around five. There's something I need to discuss with you about and it concerns another thorn that's been in our sides recently."

He didn't have to look at her; he knew that she was thinking over what he had just said. Probably thinking about if what he wanted to talk with her about would prevent her from going on her "date."

"How long will it take?" she finally asked. "I gotta be somewhere tonight."

"It won't take too long," he said carefully. "In fact, I think you have a right to know about what I've been up to recently. It just might give you more incentive for when you decide to knock Mr. Woods' block off."

"Hold up, how do you know about that?" she demanded.

"I have my ways," he said, buffing his finger nails against his coat. "Trust me, this is something you're going to want to know."

"So why don't you tell about it now?" A valid point there.

"Because the setting isn't right," he replied. "That, and I left all my materials back home, evidential materials I might add. You're going to want visual aids for this one."

"Translation: you want to be overdramatic," Charlotte stated bluntly. "Fine, whatever, I'll be there at five so long as you take care of something for me."

"What? Bargaining?" Bain turned his head to look at the girl. "I wasn't aware there was a negotiation here."

"There isn't any," Charlotte huffed. "You remember that girl with the pink hair? The one that Rod was with at the beginning of the school year? Sunny, I think. Well, she's been stalking me."

"You don't happen to swing that way, do you?" Bain asked cautiously, eyes narrowing.

"Idiot," she grunted, slapping the back of his head. "She's looking for you. Since she couldn't find you, she's been hanging around me, asking where you are. How about you accept responsibility this time around and do something about it?"

"I should, shouldn't I?" Bain agreed, the tone of his voice giving the impression that someone was about to have a bad day.


	29. Let's Have a Threeway

Author's Note: After some consideration, I decided not to break this chapter into two parts. It's the climax of the story and I didn't feel like delaying you guys from getting it. Been working on this fic too long to stall it any longer. Anyway, this chapter has some adult stuff in it that will definitely offend your sensibilities, as it should. Also, there is a big fight scene, something I know not many people will be into outside of action-starved and testosterone-laden guys.

Originally, I wanted the big fight scene for this chapter to be a four-way fight but I came across two insurmountable obstacles. One was how was I going to bring everything to getting so that it fit. Second was how to choreograph it. Both fell in pretty quickly and very early on but that is where the Mysterion subplot was started. Now some of the fruits of my labors are beginning to ripen and I'm more than willing to share them with you.

So take a few minutes to mentally prepare yourself and when you're ready, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language, violence, adult themes, death

Let's Have a Three-way

Like a lost soul, Sunny wandered down the street, her eyes darting over to where Charlie's house stood. The girl bit her lip, wondering if she should go over and see if the only person who could get her into contact with a real-life sociopath was home and if she knew how to find him.

She was nervous, more submissive than the more outgoing Charlie so it usually took great effort for her to walk up to the front door and knock. Or ring the doorbell, whichever it was that she was mindful of at the moment.

She didn't want or mean to be a pest but she was desperate. Why was this so hard for her? Conjuring a demon, enchanting a hoodoo doll, and summoning a Hollywood slasher should be nothing compared to asking Bain to do this one little thing for her. Maybe it was her natural shyness or the fact there was something more real about going to a real life person than something that could have come from her own imagination.

Still, she had a feeling that Charlie wouldn't welcome yet another visit from her. The way her voice had dulled with each and every visit she made seemed to be a good indicator of this though Sunny couldn't be too sure.

She came to a stop, Charlie's house across the street, directly in front of her. Should she or shouldn't she? That was the question that weighed on her mind.

"Looking for someone?"

She squeaked, jumping at the unexpected voice that had come from right…behind…her…

She spun around, expecting to see either someone from school looking at her weirdly or maybe some kind of potential rapist who was planning on chaining her in his basement and having his way with her until she broke free and smashed his brains out with an aluminum baseball bat. Then she found she had to look slightly down as the person who was behind her wasn't as tall as she was expecting.

She almost had another heart attack when she realized it was Bain who was right behind her, looking at her with idle curiosity.

"I hear you've been looking for me," Bain stated briskly, almost in a business-like manner. "Here I am. No need to keep stalking my significant other."

Why was it that she could somehow find the courage to speak to Charlie who normally wouldn't give her the time of day yet anything she could say turned to ask in front of Bain? Wait, she knew, it was plain ass fear. Simple as that.

"Well?" Bain demanded impatiently, becoming annoyed with her silence. "You were quite chatty with Charlotte but I haven't heard a word out of you. Speak now or I will forever prevent you from speaking again."

He was so eloquent with his threats, wasn't he, she wondered. With annoyance reflecting from his eyes, she figured that now would be a good time to try and explain herself before he went through with whatever he was planning on doing to her.

"I-I-I-I-" she found herself stuttering. Crap, was she that afraid of him?

"Spit it out," Bain deadpanned.

"Help!" she managed to get out. "I need help. Your help. Please."

"Help with what?" Bain asked pleasantly. "I'm a very busy person and I haven't got all day."

She fell to her knees and grabbed fistfuls of his coat, looking up at him with tears beading up in the corners of her eyes. "Please! Kill Rod! I beg you! Kill him for me!"

A blink of his eyes. That was it. While most people would have pushed her away or backed away themselves, wondering if she lost her mind, he stood there and didn't give any emotional reaction a normal person would.

"Is that it?" he finally asked.

Now it was her turn to blink only it was in confusion. She hadn't expected him to say that. Maybe a "yes," maybe a "hell no, get away from me," but definitely not a "is that it."

Safe to say, she was grasping at straws at this point.

"It's going to take more than begging to convince me to kill your ex," Bain drawled as he placed the tip of his finger on her forehead and pushed her head back slightly. "Falling to your knees and begging with all your heart, tears threatening to spill is not going make me feel sorry enough for to do this of my own free will. You're going to have to try better than that."

Why was it that she now felt so lost? This was her last chance to make Rod pay for what he had done to her and now not only was it slipping from her fingers, it was deserting her without consideration of the pain that she has been going through. Her nightmare was becoming complete; her innocence had been taken from her and she was not only powerless to avenge it, she was abandoned by everything…

"Wake up!" Bain snapped at her. "Do you always look lost? It's more than mildly annoying. Stop looking like I killed your dog or cat or whatever. I never said I wouldn't do it you mindless kitchen drone."

She was alone in this world, cast aside and…wait, what?

"But…didn't you say…?" Her confusion was evident but Bain merely rolled his eyes at her as if he was dealing with someone who was intellectually far beneath him.

"I only said that your attempts to con me into doing it weren't going to work, I never said that I wasn't going to put an axe blade in his skull," Bain scoffed as he pushed her away.

"So you'll do it…?" she trailed off hopefully.

"Not for the reasons you're hoping," Bain sniffed, looking away from her as he readjusted his trenchcoat. "But if you'd like to find out, then I'm assuming you know where I live, yes?"

She nodded. Charlie had given her the address a while back and she had kept it.

"Show up at five this evening," Bain commanded. "There's something I'd like to show you…"

* * *

Damien sat on the guest bed, staring blandly at his babysitter who had only just now ordered him to stay in this room and not come out until she got back. While he knew she had the authority to tell him what to do, he wasn't about to let her think he would take it sitting down.

"What about if I require sustenance?" he asked innocently. "What if you're out too long and I get hungry? As my legal guardian on the surface, you must tend to my needs or risk being arrested for child abuse."

"I'd like to see you use that argument in court," Charlie replied. "You look the same age as I do; unless you can turn back the clock and look nine again, I don't think you're going to have much luck with your case."

"For your information, I have access to millennia's worth of lawyers and politicians," Damien said flippantly. "They'll find something, especially if I give them incentive to do so."

"But they're all in Hell, the only place you can't go to until this year is up," Charlie corrected. Gripping the talisman that she wore around her neck, she made her indomitable will known and Damien had to bow in the face of it. "If you get hungry, Stella will take care of you but I better not hear anything about you messing with her. Capisce?"

"Of course," Damien grounded out, his red eyes glaring at his sitter's backside as she left. He remained on his bed, waiting until he felt the power of that talisman wane slightly, a sign that Charlie had put some physical distance between them.

However, he knew better than to try and test his boundaries. As his father had explained to him, he was not to leave South Park and as long as he was in this town, he had to obey the wearer of the talisman. It made making other mortal's lives unbearable that much harder to do.

Well, he had a few cards up his sleeve and perhaps now was a good time to use one. If all went well, Charlie wouldn't be able to trace it back to him.

"O Azazel," he summoned, his voice almost cooing.

In the corner of the Whites' guestroom, a small black mist formed, a baaing sound telling the Antichrist that his servant had arrived. "Yes, my lord?"

"It's been too warm in this mountain town," Damien commented as he picked some lint off his shoulder. "How about you help cool it down some and bring the nearest thunderstorm over here? That might cool some hotheads around here."

"Um…I don't know if that's in my contract…" the servant began to say, trying to excuse himself.

"I may be unable to punish you now," Damien spoke up, interrupting his servant, "but in due time I will and such disobedience now will be punished then. Tenfold."

"I'll d-d-do my b-b-baaa-est!" the servant stuttered, baaing in the middle of his sentence.

"You'll do more than your best, you'll get me my storm," Damien stated, shooting a one-eyed glare at the black mist.

"O-of course!" the servant exclaimed, slipping away into the ethers.

Ah, now that was a piece of home he hadn't had in some time. As he allowed himself to relax, Damien let a demonic grin split his face wide open. Now this little spat between his sitter and this mortal would be more…

…even.

* * *

They were late. Nothing got on Bain's nerves more than when someone was late, especially when he had been the one to set the time.

What was so hard about showing up at five o'clock? Had he not spoken English? Was his request just too demanding? Were either of them just too good for him to show up when he had asked them to?

The doorbell had just barely rung when he violently opened the front door, glaring at his two guests like they were less than a piece of gum stuck to his boot. Tardiness disgusted him.

"What's with the look?" Charlie asked, looking at him pointedly and obviously not getting what had him peeved. He ignored what she said for a second, his glare fixing on the Sunny girl who shrunk behind Charlotte as she rightly should. His gaze went over them slightly for a second, noticing something but just as quickly returned to Charlotte.

"Were you curing cancer?" he asked pleasantly instead.

"No?" Charlie answered, trying to figure out where he was going with this. Cute.

"Then I do not understand just what could have kept you from showing at five in the evening, today, on the very day that I told you to show up," he snapped.

"You're pissed that I'm late just by a couple minutes?" Charlie demanded. "How about you learn some patience? I had her following behind me," she jerked her thumb at the girl behind her, "and I thought you had already taken care of that."

"I asked you both here," Bain stated. "Next time, maybe I should tell you what time to leave so that you can show up on time? Do I have to hold your hands or something?"

"Hey, who's wasting time now?" Charlie interrupted.

Bain glared at the girl but moved aside to let both of them in. Women, you can't trust them to get from point A to point B without a map, compass, or a GPS and not get themselves lost. He continued to glower at the time as they passed him, Sunny shying away from him like she should.

"So what is it you want to tell me?" Charlie asked.

Slamming the door, he took the lead and led the two to his living room. "As I said earlier, it's for both of you. I have my reasons for why but they are for me to know. Now take a seat, you're both going to need it."

He took his place in his favorite chair, his anger subsiding as he leveled a more composed expression at them, waiting for them to heed his command. He noted that Sunny was quick to obey but that Charlotte, as usual, defied him. He raised an eyebrow at her, as if saying "well?" Finally, after a tense stare off, she decided to play along and took her seat on the couch.

Now that he had his audience where he wanted them, he eyed them both for a second, taking in their looks from Charlotte's impatient curiosity to Sunny's more worried tenseness. He liked Sunny's expression more; it made him feel powerful.

Charlotte looked like she was about to demand that he get on with it and he took it as his sign to start, cutting her off before she could say a word. "I've brought you both here today because you both have some sort of relationship with one Robert Woods."

"I don't have anything with that douchebag," Charlotte interrupted, glaring at him.

"Of course you do," Bain corrected her. "You have an incredibly negative relationship with him, one marked with one-sided affection, cruelty, and violence. Pinkie over here is in the same boat with one-sided affection, cruelty, and…well, that's where your similarities end."

"And your point?"

"Don't rush me, I'm on a roll," Bain said. Clearing his throat, he got back into his previous frame of mind. "Despite all this, I bet that neither of you really know who you've been dealing with for the past few months. Mr. Woods, as it turns out, has a lot of skeletons in his closet. I would know, I trekked back to his point of origin and dug up all the dirt I could possibly find. What I found wasn't pretty."

He knew he had Sunny in the palm of his hand from the way she was unconsciously leaning towards, getting involved with his monologue. Charlotte, however, wasn't as impressed.

"So what? He has some shit he doesn't want other people to know about," she said. "We all are like that so what's your fucking point? I don't have time to deal with your games, Bain."

Eh, not where he wanted her but it was close. Time to do what he loved most.

Put Charlotte in her place.

He pulled out a vanilla folder that he had planted between the cushion and armrest of his chair. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the folder whirling onto the coffee table between the three of them.

"Take a look at the first photo in there," he instructed. "Tell me if you don't find it familiar."

Looking at him suspiciously, Charlotte nevertheless snatched the folder up and opened it.

"Bain? Is this…?" she began to ask but Bain decided not to keep her in suspense.

"No, that is not Devin Brasch," he answered her barely spoken question. "Looks similar to her, doesn't it? Similar position, similar surroundings, and no clothes whatsoever? That, dear Charlotte, is one Mary Kay Vernon. She'd be a sophomore in college by now if she hadn't been found like that the day after her senior prom."

Charlotte looked back to him, not getting what the dead girl in the photo she was looking at had to do with Rod. Sunny, having scooted closer to the more outgoing girl to get a better look at the picture, looked a bit too fascinated with the image, one of her hands held up but wavering between whether or not to take hold of the photo or return to her lap.

"Didn't you know?" Bain asked. "Her date to her high school prom was none other than Rod Woods. And yes, it's the same Rod Woods that we all know and hate."

That definitely got her attention. "Wait. Are you telling me…?" Oh yes, she was picking up quickly, finally using those skills she picked up from her precious Sherlock.

"Oh yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you," he confirmed, his lips curved in a malevolent smile. "A few weeks ago, Rod takes Devin Brasch out on a date to the Homecoming Dance and the next morning we find her dead. Mary Kay Vernon goes out on a date with Rod to her senior prom and is found dead the next morning. Coincidence? Maybe but on the next couple pages, it sums up the state of her body.

"Bruising, markings on her wrists and ankles, trauma and tearing found in her vaginal canal. Oh, and let's not forget about the bruising found on her neck that had a pattern similar to those of large hands wrapping around it. Crushed larynx and cause of death strangulation. She was restrained and had a rough time during sexual intercourse, during which she was strangled.

"But that's not the best part. There was trace evidence found on her body that led back to Robert being a 'possible' suspect. According to the original notes, a few drops of semen were collected. A few hairs that did not belong to the victim were also found."

"You're talking about forensics now," Charlotte interrupted. "Semen, hairs, that should have locked him up a long time ago."

"Funny story," Bain said. "Apparently, those drops of semen vanished before they could be tested. At least, that's what the most recent reports say despite the fact they were last seen being transferred to a lab to be tested. The hairs were inconclusive as they had been damaged though according to the results they could not exclude Robert here."

"Missing? Damaged?" Charlotte repeated. "The way you're putting it, the police were inept in collecting the evidence."

"It wouldn't be the first time," Bain shrugged. "However, it was also about the time that there was some movement going on in a certain corporate headquarters, the same one that employ both of Robert's parents. High price lawyers started getting involved and the police were spooked. One day, Robert's marked off the list of possible suspects for no apparent reason and the case goes cold a couple months later."

"A cover up? Why?" Charlotte demanded. "Why would some company want to get involved in something like this? It makes no sense."

"It might soon enough," Bain countered. "Skip over a few pages and you'll find another photograph. The story behind it happens to be stranger than this one."

Charlotte looked up at him, giving him a dubious look. "You're suggesting to me that some big time corporation got on its hands and knees to help a kid who belongs to two of their employees out of the goodness of their hearts?"

"Not at all, corporations, contrary to what Mitt Romney says, are not people and thus have no souls," Bain replied. "Now go on and flip on over to that next photograph."

Finally, she was listening to him and skipping ahead. He saw her incredulous expression and he didn't blame her. That had been his reaction when he had first seen it.

"Is that leather?" Sunny asked. Oh, he had forgotten about her. He felt there was something odd about that. He'd have to keep an eye on her; no sense having another homegrown killer in this town.

"Why yes it is," he confirmed. "I believe it's called a bodice. Who you're looking at right now is a woman known mainly by her trade name: Trixie. Mistress Trixie. She was a professional dominatrix who was rumored to be willing to do anything and everything, whether it involved bodily fluids, bestiality, necrophilia, or pedophilia. If it exists, she probably did it."

"Okay and she's dead," Charlotte said, obvious disgust in her voice. "What does she have to do with Rod?"

"Where do you think the pedophilia comes in?" Bain countered.

"Oh. OH. Oh God, I think I'm going to be sick!" Charlie exclaimed, dry heaving. Even Sunny was turning a little green at the gills.

"Try not to get any on the furniture, I think one of them was reupholstered recently," Bain said, sitting up straighter to keep an eye on Charlotte.

"Naturally I'm about to vomit up my guts and you're worried about the furniture," Charlie spat at him. "Let me guess, the carpet was shampooed too?"

"Oh, you can throw up on the carpet," Bain told her, "I won't be the one cleaning it up."

Groaning, she said, "Just try and edit some of the worst stuff out. Explain what a dead hooker has to do with this."

"You'd be surprised how hard it was to find anything out about her," Bain began explaining, sitting back in his chair. "Outside of her place of business, I couldn't find anything on her. At least, that was the case until a little tip led me back to her day job. You see, while dominatrix…ing was her passion, it didn't pay on all the bills so she needed something else to supplement her income. She worked as a secretary for one Mr. Solms who instead of actually using her as a secretary, employed her as a babysitter."

"And who is Mr. Solms?" Charlie asked.

"Rod's father. He shared her with his wife who decided to retain her maiden name when they married," Bain told them. "But we're getting ahead of ourselves. Rod's parents, while great at their jobs, were absentminded when it came to caring for their son. Deciding to handle their own secretarial duties themselves, they assigned Mistress Trixie as their son's babysitter. Outside of having to make an occasional appearance at the workplace, Trixie got to stay out on the streets, applying her more passionate trade. Reports I managed to gather mentioned that at some point she had a young boy following her around. A boy, who I might add, looked older than he really did and every once in a while was seen wearing her hat."

"So Rod was raised by a dominatrix?" Sunny asked quietly. Bain glanced over to her, internally cursing himself for forgetting that she was also in the room with them. If she didn't speak, he found himself focusing all his attention on Charlotte and ignoring her. Damn it, he was playing for an audience of two, not one!

"Indeed," he answered. "A dominatrix who, as I found out, had a very affluent clientele."

"That doesn't make any sense," Charlie frowned at him. "You're saying that she needed two jobs to get by but had some rich people going to her for some sick sex shit? Something's not adding up right."

"I know what you mean," Bain rolled his eyes though it was more in contempt for the deceased than for the living. "A little more digging, however, answered that. She may have been charging a cheap fee for her dominating services but she was also demanding some favors from her well-collected clients as well. If she had legal troubles, these rich men would have to pay her lawyers or find some way to get rid of the evidence. In the midst of passions, she could get any one of them to agree to her demands and with a recording, force them to abide by the agreements.

"In essence, she was getting all the benefits of being affluent without actually being affluent. Her clients consisted of married men in high positions and if their sessions with her were to get out, they'd be ruined or charged with some crimes. Remember, not everything she did was legal. She had them by the balls and they knew it. She had them under her thumb and used her prowess to prevent them from even coming to the conclusion that they should seek the aid of a hitman or a specialist in removing…inconveniences. She had become a goddess, indestructible and master of their domain. Psychological learned helplessness if you will."

"So what went wrong?" Sunny asked quietly.

"She showed up dead one day and suddenly all their problems were solved," Bain said casually. "Because she had so many customers in high places, they for once had a common goal: to prevent any of what she had on them from becoming public knowledge. Ultimately, the case grew cold and now it rests in a police archive, waiting for the cold case division to reach it. With some…help, I was able to track down someone involved in the cover-up and that's when I learned of Rod's involvement. It seemed like he got tired of always being submissive and turned the tables on her one night. She led him into a life of debauchery and paid for it by becoming his first victim."

"What's this all leading up to?" Charlie asked, wanting to get to the heart of the matter it seemed.

"When the Vernon murder occurred, a few of Mistress Trixie's former clients decided to get together, feeling that they owed him one. Not all of them mind you but one of them happened to be a big time CEO of a major corporation that just happened to be the very one that employed his parents.

"There was a catch, though. As soon as things quieted down, he would have to leave town. His parents would be the stickler: both were incredibly good at their jobs so it became less of a matter of keeping them around so much as not letting their competitors get a hold of them. The solution: transfer them to another branch and hope they wouldn't embarrass them more than they already had."

"So they were transferred to Colorado but Rod is still up to his old tricks," Charlotte concluded.

"I would assume," Bain agreed. "Before they left, as if his own parents were ashamed of him, that had him go to court and have his name changed. Originally, he was Robert Solms and now it's Robert Woods, changing from his father's last name to his mother's. I think the two were intending something else but Robert decided to fuck them over and keep at least one of their names. Not long after, his mother left her maiden name and took on her husband's." Now he turned his full attention towards Sunny, fully intending on satisfying his curiosity on a certain topic. "One way to confirm if he's still plying his old trade is going to involve our pink friend over here. Sunny, you said your name was? True or false. You've gone all the way with Rod here."

The girl squeaked as Bain focused his attention solely on her, ignoring the look Charlotte was giving him.

"Well? We don't have all day," he drawled. "Yes or no."

Sunny's face flushed red in embarrassment but much to Bain's satisfaction, she nodded yes. Okay, step one done. Now for two.

"How did that go?" he asked. "Did he engage in any BDSM while you were with him? Handcuffs? Whips? Something else that might prove painful?"

"Whoa! Whoa! Where do you think you're going with this?" Charlie demanded, interrupting the interrogation.

"Confirming my suspicions," Bain stated coolly. "Well, woman? What did he do?"

"Don't answer that!" Charlie snapped at Sunny. "He's being a dick right now."

"Answer the question," Bain ordered, ignoring Charlotte. He gazed straight into her eyes, demanding that she answer and stop wasting his time.

"Bain, do you want me to hurt you?" Charlie snapped at him. He refrained from looking at her, knowing that she was indeed promising him some sort of pain for pulling this latest stunt. All in good time, he promised her silently. Once this girl gave him the answer to what he was investigating, the more efficient he could solve this little puzzle that was Rod Solms/Woods.

"H-he," Sunny sobbed, "he handcuffed me to his bed."

"Go on," he encouraged, leaning forward.

"Stop! You're only satisfying some sick fantasy of his!" Charlie yelled at the girl.

"Talking about a trauma is more beneficial to a person than holding it in," Bain shot back at her. "I'd think you of all people would know that." Turning back to Sunny, he demanded, "Well?"

"Listen to me, he's being a bastard," Charlie said to the trembling girl. "You don't have to tell him anything."

"No. I…I want to," Sunny said quietly, looking down at her lap. "I just…I don't want to say it out loud."

"Then whisper it in my ear," he told her, a triumphant smirk on his face. "Nobody else has to know if you don't want it."

"Okay," Sunny swallowed, standing up shakily and making her way over to him. She placed her hands around an ear, cupping it as she leaned in and in a quiet voice began whispering to him.

**The following has been edited out due to being too graphic for anyone sane or of sound mind. To get the full story, e-mail Bain Cynis at homicidalmaniac (at sign) gmail . com in which your request will be promptly ignored.**

"And you say I'm sick," Bain said casually towards Charlotte. It was a reflex, really, as even he was a bit disturbed from hearing about what went on behind Rod's closed doors. And this girl was still alive after all that? And hadn't lost her mind? She was stronger than he thought. No wonder she had been hoping to sic him on the bastard.

"What did she say?" Charlie demanded of him. "You look weirded out. Is it that bad?"

He looked at the meeker girl, debating on whether telling Charlie what she had just told him and ultimately deciding against. It was best for Charlotte to retain some measure of innocence.

"Let's just say that it clears some things up," he said delicately, unable to resist shuddering at the images that were corrupting his mind. He seriously did not need to know about any ways a candle could be used for other than providing light. "He's sicker than I originally thought…"

"That's great to know," Charlie grimaced.

"Neglected by his parents, sexually abused by a stranger, and now sexually assaulting any female that crosses his path," Bain mused. "A victim becomes a victimizer; nice way to keep that cycle of violence and abuse going, wouldn't you say?"

"Trying to be philosophical, huh?" Charlie grunted. "The only thing that's philosophical here is my fist that's going to be making friends with that rapist's face."

Bain blinked before recalling what he had heard the previous night. Instead of coming out with it, he decided to play innocent, toy with his favorite person to annoy. "Oh? Are you planning on meeting up with him soon? Don't tell me you're thinking of downgrading to him. That would make me have to hurt someone."

"In your dreams. I'm going to beat Rod up tonight," she declared. "He tried to get the upperhand on me last night. Thought he could intimidate me with a knife but thanks to you, it was easy as pie taking him down."

"I've yet to hear you say you finished him," he said idly.

"Unlike some people around here, I think twice before I decide to kill anybody," Charlie stated, glaring at him defiantly.

"I don't recall you thinking twice about Jacky-boy," he pointed out.

"I had third and fourth thoughts before I decided to stop him from threating me and the rest of my family," she stated. "You think it was easy for me to do that?"

"Whatever makes you sleep easier at night," he shrugged, glancing back at the forgotten Sunny who was watching them, lost and not understanding what they were talking about.

"Fuck you, asshole," she snarled, towering over him. "I don't need to take any of this from you! I'm out of here."

"You're still going to go beat him up?" he asked her.

"Duh!" she said sarcastically, rolling her eyes.

Now he got out of his chair but instead of following her, he headed towards a window, the blinds closed and concealing the view outside. "Care to tell me how you're going to do that with this out?" he asked as grasped the pullstring and yanked it down, pulling the blinds up and revealing dark clouds overhead.

He smirked as Charlotte visibly tensed up. Oh yes, he could always count on that phobia of hers; storms terrified her like nothing else and this would put her at a major disadvantage if she went one-on-one with Rod.

"The weatherman didn't say anything about rain," Sunny murmured to herself. Bain had the sense of mind not to snort at the girl in contempt.

"Having second thoughts?" he half asked, half suggested.

"No!" she blurted out, though it was obvious she was putting every effort into not knocking her knees together.

"How noble of you," he cooed as he stalked towards her leisurely. "Even in the face of such great odds, you refuse to back down. That's something I love about you my dear. That is also why I cannot allow you to be on time for your 'date.'"

A well-timed crack of thunder distracted the girl, allowing Bain to slip in behind her and slide his arm around her throat, capturing her in a sleeper hold. As she struggled, Bain calmly shushed her. "Relax, let consciousness slip away. Don't resist Charlotte; it's for your own good." Under normal circumstances, Charlotte would have been able to break free but this was not normal circumstances and he was able to subdue the firecracker of a girl, lowering her carefully to the floor as unconsciousness took her.

He released the hold, no joy or gratification showing on his face. In fact, he didn't feel any kind of elations for such a victory. No, he felt empty, null if you will. Well, perhaps he could fix that by making somebody else suffer…

He snapped his head around, leveling a threating glare at Sunny who was held in captivation. "You are not to let her out of this house, understand?" he growled at her. At her frightened nod, he gestured with his head for her to come over to him. "Help me get her on the couch. Move it."

It wasn't difficult as much of Charlotte's weight was essentially dead weight and they had her lying on the soft cushions, dead to the word as it were. The only sign that she was indeed still alive was her breathing, her chest rising up and down with each inhalation and exhalation.

"Remember," he said to the other girl. "Keep an eye on her and don't let her out. I'll be keeping her appointment this evening whether she wants me to or not."

Without another word, he headed for the basement. He had some tools he needed to pick up…

* * *

The chilly wind, the dark clouds that blanketed the sky, the tension in the air that was but a sign that screamed that something was about to happen…

All were a clear signal to South Park's dark guardian that some deep shit was about to go down.

He had been delayed too long, held captive by deranged airport security agents and forced to hitchhike his way back to the city that he had sworn to protect. Anything could have happened by now.

If something had happened, then it wouldn't be Mysterion's finest moment. He had the power, the knowledge to prevent whatever travesty that was building up but unfortunately he did not have the evidence to go to the higher authorities and prevent it. His adversary had already snatched it up and fled back. Now he had to get it back if he wanted to save some lives.

He knew where Bain's house was and while he believed the asshole wouldn't be stupid enough to leave that precious evidence there, he had to start somewhere. Of course that would also require that Bain was taking his sweet time and not rushing to snatch justice with his own hands.

He snuck in through Bain's window but found the sociopath's bedroom was void of said sociopath. He also found that it was void of the evidence he was searching for after ransacking it. He hadn't underestimated his opponent but it hadn't hurt to check the place just in case. From there he wisped into the rest of the house, straining his ears for any little sound that there was any movement. Dying was not on the top of his list here and if he did die, it would be another day wasted.

He could not have that.

Sneaking down the stairs, he saw a flash of pink that made him freeze in his tracks. Was somebody else here too? Cautiously, he tiptoed down the rest of the stairs and peeked into the living room. So he hadn't imagined the pink; there was a girl, Sunny Grain he believed, sitting in Bain's living room and there was…Charlie!

Lottery Ticket was just lying there on that couch, not moving, and he felt a sense of dread welling up inside of him. Had Bain finally done it? Had he finally killed her after all this time? He fled from the darkness, marching up to Sunny and the lifeless Charlie, a dark glare warning anyone not to mess with him.

Sunny snapped her head around, squeaking as she saw him and curled up into a chair, shying away from him in fear. He was getting much better at this now that just a glare could intimidate a suspect.

"What happened here?" he demanded, his gravelly voice harsh. "What happened to her?"

Sunny opened and closed her mouth, unable to say anything to the masked vigilante but Mysterion was not in the mood for it. He slammed a hand on either side of the girl and loomed over her, his masked eyes boring holes into her head.

"I'm not going to ask again. What. Happened," he growled out.

"H-h-he knocked her out," Sunny stuttered over her words. Damn, she was so afraid she looked like she was about to wet her panties. Would serve Bain right if she did stain his furniture.

He glanced over at Charlie, not moving from his position as he eyed her body critically. Wait, was her chest…? Oh thank God. She was still breathing. That meant Bain hadn't fulfilled his threats to her.

"Where is he?" he demanded, turning back to Sunny.

"He left," she told him, eyes wide with fear. "He said that he was going to take her place."

"Take her place doing what?"

"Going after Rod. Charlie said she was going to fight him but he knocked her out and left."

Mysterion paused. So Rod was still alive? Then perhaps it wasn't too late.

"Where did he go?" he pressed urgently. "Where are they meeting?"

"I don't know!" Sunny sobbed.

"Did he say anything?" he tried, trying to figure out anything that Bain might have slipped when he left. There had to be some clue; there just had to be!

"Charlie might know…" Sunny whispered.

Of course! Pushing away from the girl, he made his way over to Charlie, pausing when he noticed an opened folder on the coffee table. There was his evidence! And it was out in the open! But what had Bain wanted to accomplish here? He was so far behind yet he needed to do some major catching up.

With a gloved hand, he shook Charlie, trying to coax her out of her slumber as quickly as he could. There was no time to be gentle here.

"Charlie. Charlie!" he said harshly, hovering over her as if by getting closer to her and saying her name loudly, it would wake her up.

Imagine his surprise when a palm slammed into his cheek and forced him away from her. He nearly landed on the coffee table but his honed reflexes enabled him to angle for the space between the table and the couch. Above him, Charlie coughed, a hand tenderly touching her neck.

"What happened?" she rasped, looking around in confusion at her surroundings.

He was back on his feet in an instant and placing his hands on her shoulders. "Where's Bain going?" he demanded, slightly shaking her to get her attention. "Where were you going to fight Rod?"

Charlie blinked at him, not understanding what he was talking about until it dawned on her. "That fucking asshole!" she snarled as she shoved Mysterion away, getting up and heading for the door. "Wait until I get my hands on—"

A loud crack of thunder rumbled and Charlie was crouched on the floor, her body warring on whether to fight or run. It then hit him; so that was why Bain had knocked her out. Perhaps he did have some feelings for people other than himself. Nevertheless, now was not the time to ponder about epiphanies. He needed to stop a murder and fast.

"Charlie! Where are they?" he demanded as he took hold of her shoulder again. "Think girl! Where are they?"

Charlie whimpered slightly but slowly angled her head up to the masked hero. "Construction site," she gasped out. "Nine."

Immediately, Mysterion snapped his head over towards the TV and beneath it, the box for Time Warner Cable. There on the front of it, the current time.

8:58.

Damn it, it was almost time! He looked over to the coffee table then over to the front door. Which should he choose?

A split second later, he was out the door, running as fast as he could. No time to go to the police; he had to stop Bain!

* * *

Rod sneered at the sight. Ugly ass looking place. Why hadn't anybody finished building whatever this was supposed to be? It was a fucking eyesore; hadn't changed a bit since he first saw it when he moved here.

Okay, he was ready, more than ready for this. Did he have everything? Skin-tight leather pants? Check. Black tank top? Check? Fingerless gloves? Check? Leather jacket? Check. Was his hat on properly? He reached up and adjusted his peaked hat, making sure that it was on his head securely. Double check.

Alright, he was ready to take this bitch. No more do-overs. This time she was not going to get away from him.

Boldly, he passed through the open gate, eyes darting from side to side as he tried to find the girl that was his prey for the night. Now where could she be? Had she lost her nerve or was this going to be a game of hide and seek? Just a fun game except at the end when he raped the shit out of her? That might be more fun than beating the brains out of the bitch.

While normally he could have the patience of a saint, he wasn't particularly feeling very patient tonight. He was violating his parents' orders to stay at the house and if they called and he didn't answer, well there would be hell to pay.

He wasn't in the mood to go through with that.

"Charlie!" he yelled out. He waited, expecting an echo or something but remembered that he wasn't in a cave or in front of a canyon. If there was an echo, it'd be so quiet he wouldn't hear it. Growling, he yelled out Charlie's name again, scanning the place for any sign of her.

A boom of thunder overhead reminded him that a torrent of rain could fall down at any moment. He didn't feel like getting wet either; the leather jacket would shield him no doubt but he was still unsure how well water and leather got along.

"I'm afraid Charlotte won't be able to attend tonight. She's found herself a bit incapacitated this night so I took it upon myself to take her place."

Who was that? That wasn't Charlie's voice!

"Over here, pretty boy."

Why did that voice sound much closer? He looked in the direction he believed the voice came from and imagine his surprise when he found the shrimp Charlie called a boyfriend. With that black trenchcoat of his, he had blended in with the darkness of the night. Not only that, he was keeping away from any of the lights that had been turned on around this place.

But damn, he had balls, didn't he? Rod remembered last night how this shrimp tried to run him down. Maybe he could pay him back for that tonight, show that shrimp just why you didn't mess with him. Maybe this wasn't going to be a bad night after all.

"Just the person I wanted to see," he smirked, cracking his knuckles. "I owe you for last night. It was a real bitch move trying to run me over."

"You seem in high spirits," Bain commented, stalking towards him like a lion or tiger would. Rod had no idea why he would compare such big and deadly animals to this guy but damn, this guy could leave a bit of an impression. He had to give him that. But it would mean nothing, especially when Rod pounded him six feet under. Hey, if he couldn't get Charlie tonight, he might do this asshole instead, as a message if you could look at it that way.

Bain was starting to circle around him, his eyes not leaving him for an instant. Rod followed him, turning his head and later his body little by little to keep up with the shrimp's orbit. "High spirits? I guess you could say that," he said. "I get to beat up on you instead of Charlie. Since you're a guy, I won't hold back."

"You hold back when hitting a girl?" Bain raised an eyebrow. "How gentlemanly of you. You give them a chance I wouldn't."

"Maybe that's because I'm normal," Rod shot at him.

"You? Normal? Don't make me laugh," Bain scoffed. "How normal is it to be babysat by a dominatrix? To be sexually abuse by one? I've been curious about that, actually."

Rod froze, eyes widening. How…how did he know about that? How did he find out!

"Unlike some people around here, I like to research my prey before I go in for the kill," Bain answered him without being asked. He came to a stop and turned fully to face him. "I know so much about you. The little things that you'd like to keep secret, hidden away from the world so that no one would suspect just how fucked up you are. You're tormented by what happened to you, aren't you? That's why you do what you do with all those girls."

"Shut up," he growled, glaring murderously at the smaller teen.

"You need to feel power and in control at all times because control was what was taken from you by that dom, wasn't it?" Bain continued mercilessly. "Yet no matter how hard you try, you can never get back that sense that you are in charge of your own life. You go through girl after girl, chaining them down and doing whatever you desire to them and they have no choice but to endure it, just like you had to."

"Shut. Up."

"You've built yourself, sculpted a body that would serve as bait to lure an endless stream of whores to you. You learned the games of seduction and appealed to their lust and hormones and more often than not, you succeed. Beneath it all, you're still that powerless, little boy aren't you? Crying out for your mother and father to save you even as you're being erotically tortured by the very person they entrusted your care to. You've been betrayed an awful lot."

"Shut up!"

"Is that why you killed those girls? Even after your mistress is gone and you have no reason to be afraid, you continue the games that she played with you with other people. So what caused you to cross the line? Was it because they continued to fight back? That they had the willpower to do what you couldn't do? And when they fought back, they threatened to take away that control that you so desire to possess? Did it scare you? Or did you become angry at yourself that they could do what you were too weak to do?"

"Shut the fuck up!"

"What is it, Little Rod?"

Rod screamed in absolute fury as he launched himself straight at Bain.

He was going to rip this little shit apart!

* * *

Bain took a calm breath, Winslow held tightly in his hand. Sleight-of-hand had been a technique he had picked up over the years, only really getting serious about it when Charlotte had moved to town. It always paid to have some kind of ace up your sleeve, especially with that girl.

With Rod charging at him, it was only a matter of flicking his wrist and out comes Winslow. An instant later, Rod is a few feet behind him and coming to a stop. Bain eyed Winslow's blade clinically, noting there was not a trace of blood on it. Huh, he missed…

He turned his body only enough so that he could face Rod yet still be able to take off should the occasion call for it. Rod was still before him, slightly hunched as if he was clutching at something. Slowly, the larger teen faced him, his eyes wide in disbelief. As the blond turned, Bain spotted just what he had cut.

There was a long slit in Rod's jacket, a tear that was quite obvious and in no way could it be hidden.

"You ruined my jacket," Rod stated incredulously. Then his handsome face began wrinkling in anger. "You fucked up my fucking jacket! You bastard!"

Really? That's what he was upset about?

"It could be worse," he retorted. "It could have been skin instead."

Not hearing him, Rod was running at him again. Not unexpected but really, was this all this guy knew how to do? Reaching to a side, he snagged a dangling cable that rose up to the unfinished portion of the building and yanked on it. In the next second he was flying upwards, escaping Rod though it felt like his arm was almost yanked out of its socket. Hadn't expected that even though it had seemed like a good idea when he had set it up.

Oh, he had set this place up with some props that he felt would be a shame to waste. With advanced notice of when this little duel was to begin, he had had plenty of time to bring some notable items here. His ascent came to a stop and he extended a foot out to place on a large girder.

Below, he heard Rod yell up at him, "Get your ass back down here and fight me like a man you coward!"

Getting both feet down on a solid surface, he released the cable he had been holding and looked back down at Rod. "If you want to fight, how about you come up here?"

"Why the hell would I do that?" Rod shouted back at him.

Smirking, Bain moved out of Rod's sight for a moment. He returned momentarily, wheeling some back with him, something that ought to…provoke Rod into coming after him.

"Wait, is that my…" Rod trailed off.

"A gift, from me to you," he taunted as he pushed Rod's damaged motorcycle out from the unfinished third story and down to the earth below. Rod's wail of anguish was music to the sociopath's ears though the sudden crunch of metal cut it off. Still, it made him sad that he hadn't set up any recording equipment. The screams he was going to hear this night were going to be worth remembering.

He took a moment to pause, wondering how Christophe had managed to steal it in the first place and why he would leave it back at the warehouse where just anybody could take it. Oh well, the bike had remained at the warehouse even after all the time that had passed though it had taken him some time to figure out who the rightful owner had been.

"I'm gonna fucking kill you!" Rod roared at him, the larger teen beginning to scurry about, trying to find an entrance into the unfinished building.

"Not before I kill you first," he said to himself, withdrawing into the recesses of the construction site.

* * *

Not even completed and even Rod could tell that the place was starting to fall apart. How long had it been since anybody had been here? The place should be condemned for being a health hazard or something!

The crappy elevator didn't work so he had to take the stairs which he didn't put much faith into. Still, he managed to get to the higher floors though he had to guess which one the shrimp was hiding on. The second floor wasn't it and when he thought about it, the fourth seemed too high. The third would have to do unless this building was fucked up from the beginning.

Barging out of the stairwell, he scanned over the wide yet cluttered area of the floor, not seeing anything that remotely looked human. The little shit was hiding from him, huh?

"Where are you?" he bellowed, looking from side to side for any sign of his target.

Silence was his answer. Little bastard. He spotted a nail gun laying on the floor and snatched it up. A weapon seemed like a good idea at the moment, especially since it looked like the shrimp was trying to play psycho killer. Well, guess he had to show him just who around here was the real psycho.

A cold wind blew through the large openings in the unfinished walls, only one of which was close to being completed. It was getting chilly in here. Why'd he have to take off his jacket…oh wait, that shrimp had ruined it. Just for that, he was going to destroy his fucking face.

Something on the far side of the floor clattered and he spun towards the sound, raising the nail gun up and firing. Well, he would have shot something if anything had come out of it. Then he noticed the cable that fell from the nail gun's handle and he groaned at the realization that the damn thing wasn't plugged in. He threw it away, glaring around for any sign of the shrimp, his hands clenching and unclenching in anger.

A shadow fell over him and once again he spun around…but didn't see anyone around. Jesus Christ, he was starting to become paranoid. Something in his head, though, told him to look up and whether it was instinct or paranoia, Rod decided to humor it and looked up.

His jaw fell open, slacked from the ridiculous sight.

"You're still alive. It seems like I came in just in time," a masked and hooded teen said in a deep, gravelly voice. Rod had no idea who this was or why they even thought what they were wearing was fashionable because no matter how you looked at it, underwear was supposed to be worn under your clothes or spandex, not outside of it.

The hooded fashion disaster dropped down from their high perch, landing only a few feet away from Rod who, he still noted, was taller than this newcomer and… Why was there a question mark on his head? That was just…stupid.

"Come with me, Woods," the masked figure ordered. "It's not safe here."

Rod snorted. Oh, so whoever this was wanted to play hero, huh? Wait…

"Stupid outfit, shrimp," he sneered. "I'll give you props; trying to lull me with a stupid outfit so that you can stab me in the back is not a bad idea. Too bad I'm smarter than I look."

"I am not Bain," the masked figure threw back though there was a tinge of anger in that reply. "I'm here to help you Rod. You have no idea how much danger you are in."

"Trying to stay in character? Props, man, you'd be a good actor someday," Rod retorted. "I'd doubt they'd hire you after I get through with you!"

He swung his fist at the masked shrimp, the shrimp ducking and tackling him with his shoulder. He stumbled back and grabbed the shrimp by his shoulders and picked him up with ease. With a push of his arms, he threw the shrimp practically halfway across the floor but was disappointed when the shrimp landed on his hands and feet.

Like a fucking cat.

The masked shrimp glared up at him for a moment before his eyes widened and he shouted, "Behind you!"

"Like I'm falling for that—" Rod scoffed as he took a step towards him, barely missing something that whumped into the floor right where he had been standing.

Spinning around, he saw that mere inches had been all that separated him from the axe blade that was embedded into the floor. Jerking it out, there was the shrimp himself staring passively back at him as he held the axe with what looked like a practiced ease.

Wait, if the shrimp was right here then who was in the bad outfit behind him?

"Ignore the residential vigilante behind you," Bain said. "Unlike you and me, he has a high sense of morality and burning thirst for justice."

"So he's a Batman wannabe?" Rod asked, stepping away from the shrimp to put as much space between them as possible. "Now it makes sense."

"So we both agree on something," Bain smirked. "Too bad that's only temporary."

* * *

Mysterion acted quickly as he threw himself at Rod's broad back. Once again using his shoulder, he rammed into the larger teen, forcing him to stumble forward and straight into Bain who was attempting his own rush, his axe blade prepared to be swung at any moment. Bain's swing was aborted as Rod was physically too close for the axe blade to cleave into him and with the added momentum, Rod was falling over Bain.

Mysterion had hoped that perhaps he could abort whatever Bain had had in store for Rod but now it looked like he was more than a little late. Now he had to neutralize two psychopaths before they could hurt one another. The only way to do that was for him to hurt them until they couldn't possibly move.

How he hated violence.

Bain was shoving Rod off of him and the vigilante took the opportunity to stomp down on the axe handle preventing the shorter of the three from picking it up. Balling a gloved fist, he decked the sociopath as he turned to glare up at him. Oh, that felt good…

He blocked a sudden blow coming from Rod who had apparently decided that everyone was against him and that the only way out was to beat them into submission. He could see the muscles in Rod's bare arm tense and flex as a second fist came at him. He ducked but was then double-teamed by Bain as a booted foot nailed him in the gut.

Now that his foot was off the axe handle, Bain grabbed the weapon and swung it towards Rod who caught it in interception. With a jerk, Rod pulled the axe out of Bain's grasp and flung it away from them, the axe vanishing from sight as it clattered on the floor. Meanwhile, Bain rolled backwards onto his back, legs folded against his stomach which then shot out to slam into Rod's stomach.

Mysterion watched with a little envy how Rod didn't stumble back or grab at his gut in pain though he did grab Bain's ankles. Spinning on his heels, Rod began swinging Bain like a windmill propeller, releasing him and sending Bain flying away to slam into a bunch of bags of powdered concrete.

Reentering into the macabre battle, Mysterion leap high into the air, clenching his hands together with fingers intertwined to level a jackhammer right onto Rod's head. Rod bent over but stole Mysterion's advantage, grabbing him as he starting into a run, carrying the vigilante over into a metal girder.

Mysterion saw stars for a moment as his head rattled against the metal post but he was not completely out of it as he was aware that Rod was throwing another fist at him. He jerked his head to a side, wincing in sympathy as Rod's fist hit the unyielding girder with a dull ring.

Rod pulled away, clutching at his bleeding hand and yelling a muffled, "Fuck!"

Grabbing the sides of the girder, Mysterion pulled his legs up in an eerie reminiscent of Bain, shooting both of his feet out to nail Rod in the face. As Rod toppled backwards, he tripped and fell onto his back. Panting slightly, Mysterion looked over to where he had last seen Bain and swore when the small form was missing. Where was he now?

An arm snaked from behind the girder he was still against and captured his throat. Reacting quickly, Mysterion caught the large hunting knife that was coming in to make friends with his chest.

"Why do you always have to interfere?" Bain growled out from behind the girder.

Mysterion said nothing in reply as the large knife inched its way closer and closer to his body. Okay, how would you go about disarming a knife from this position? Bain's arm around his neck wasn't doing him any good as it was slightly blocking his airway, making it a bit hard to breath. Meanwhile, the knife was coming closer and closer by the second and he was starting to lose strength due to the lack of air.

There were heavy footsteps ahead of him and he glanced away from the knife for a second to see that Rod was back on his feet and directing his anger towards him. If this was how this guy was going to thank him for trying to save his life, he might as well let Bain have him. Still, his sense of right and wrong urged him to continue fighting, even if this guy was a colossal dick.

Also noticing Rod's approach, Bain whipped his knife away just as Rod landed one in the vigilante's gut. Mysterion felt the air whoosh out of his lungs, his eyes bulging from the blow. Clenching his teeth, he acted fast, slapping both of his hands on either side of Rod's head and pulling it closer to him so that he could headbutt the asshole.

Sharp pain in his skull but he pushed it aside easily, something you could do after fucking up on the job one too many times (and living), to focus more on the matter at hand. As Rod held his head, Mysterion jumped onto him, legs wrapping around the larger blond's torso, one hand gripping the front of the black tank top, and the other hand repeatedly bashing itself into Rod's face.

After a fifth or sixth hit, he put his hands on Rod's shoulders and released his leg-hold on Rod's torso. Pushing himself up, like a freaking gymnast he balanced himself above the hulk beneath him, his body ramrod straight. Then he let gravity take over, letting his body lean past his center of gravity but angled a foot in just a way that he kicked his heel into the small of Rod's back. With that same foot, he pushed off and put a few feet between them, spinning around so that he could face the other.

On a knee, Rod held a hand to his back, grimacing as he glared back at Mysterion. Out of the blond's eyesight, Bain approached, the large knife in hand and, as Mysterion feared, ready to plunge into Rod's body. No one was dying today, not on his watch, he swore and he was diving back into the fray.

Using Rod's hunched form as a stepping stone and knocking that stupid hat off the blond's head, he launched himself straight into Bain, grasping Bain's knife hand as he grappled with the teen. Shoving Bain back into a pile of bagged concrete, Bain rolled them around so that he was pushing the knife down towards the hero.

"You just don't know when to quit, do you?" Bain snarled down at him.

"And let you psychos have all the fun?" Mysterion replied grimly. "Not a chance." Grabbing Bain by his shoulder, he rolled them over again and reversed the direction Bain's knife was going in. "Give it up Bain. I'm not going to let you kill anyone."

Another rollover and reversal of the knife. "That's what you think," Bain growled back.

Then Bain was pulled back and away from Mysterion and the hero blinked stupidly at the sudden absence. Above him, Rod held a kicking and squirming Bain by his upper arms. Leaning back, the muscled teen threw Bain straight up into an above head girder, Bain impacting it with his chest before falling back to the third story and landing on his back.

Grasping the front of Bain's shirt, Rod pulled him back up, cocking an arm back that would undoubtedly unleash a devastating punch.

"Hold it right there evil doers!"

Rod and Bain stopped, Bain dangling from Rod's hold and Rod frozen in place. Even Mysterion found himself blinking at that. There were only three people here that he was aware of and it hadn't been him who had said anything. He'd even gave a shrug to the other two who looked over at him, wondering why he would say something so _corny_.

"Hey! Up here!"

As if guided to the source of this new voice, the three of them looked up and simultaneously felt their jaws slacken.

Looking down at the three, a gaudily dressed figure posed dramatically. It was like looking at a train wreck; it was horrible to see but you just couldn't look away…

Whoever it was, they were dressed in tight leather with stitch marks patterned asymmetrically. Tuffs of what looked like purple fur that seemed to be glued in random places made the figure look more demented that awe- or fear-inspiring. The person's head was uncovered with the exception of two cloth cat ears that looked like they were made from scrap cloth and patched together. At least the domino mask looked decent but you kinda had trouble seeing it with the person's long brown hair and the pink highlights interwoven into the locks and—

Oh no. She didn't. This wasn't who he was thinking…no, no, this was not happening. He thought he had already dealt with her! She was suppose to be home, not out here where the maniacs roamed!

"Who the hell are you?" both Bain and Rod asked at the same time, unaware that the other was speaking or saying the same thing.

"I'm glad you asked that," the now-obvious female gloated, her ego inflating. "I am—"

"Michele Pfeiffer?" Rod asked hopefully.

The female looked affronted at that. "No, not Goddamn Michele Pfeiffer!" she screeched, stopping shortly to regain her composer.

"Aww…" Rod whined.

"No, I am the creature that stalks the wickedness in men. Caretaker of the meek and oppressed. Evil shudders and whimpers before the terror of my claws. No alleyway is unprotected so long as I prowl them. I dine on the scumbags of society and FancyFeast™. I bathe in the blood and drool of my fallen victims and rub against the legs of the innocent, demanding a gratifying pet. I protect the innocent, strike fear in the hearts of criminals, and stand up for the girls who just want their Spiderman kiss."

"GET ON WITH IT!" a multitude of voices from all over South Park bellowed.

"Sorry," the girl said meekly before regaining her previous confidence. "Who am I? I. Am. Catwoman!"

"Lame," Rod said.

"Plagiarism," Bain followed up.

"DC Comics," Mysterion added.

"God fucking damn it!" the self-proclaimed "Catwoman" yelled. Pausing for a second, she said, "Shouldn't that be copyright infringement and not plagiarism?"

"No, you're an outright copy of Michele Pfeiffer from _Batman Returns_ minus the fur," Bain deadpanned. "You just committed what tens of college students and professors commit every year. Try again before you get charged with a misdemeanor and sued."

"Okay…uh…Black Cat!" the renamed "Black Cat" announced.

"Boring," Rod yawned.

"Copyright Infringement," Bain followed up.

"Marvel Comics," Mysterion added.

"Mary Jane?"

"Weed," Rod said.

"Copyright infringement," Bain followed up.

"Marvel Comics," Mysterion added. "FYI, she's not superhero."

"Why don't you come up with something that's _original_?" Bain suggested. "Take your time. We'll wait. Wow us."

"Fine!" the ambiguously named heroine shouted.

"What are the odds she'll come up with something good?" Rod asked the other two people there with Y chromosomes.

"One in fifty," Mysterion answered. "The names she has given us are completely subpar and have no imagination."

"That coming from the Batman knockoff?" Bain challenged.

"You should try coming up with a name for an alter ego," Mysterion shot back. "It'd be better than being named after a South American wrestler with tubes in the back of his head."

"He's got you there shrimp," Rod smirked.

Bain paused for a moment than grimaced. "Well forgive me for having a father who wanted me to be a professional football player."

"Where you have failed him so epically," Mysterion replied.

"Hey! It's not easy having a father with high expectations!" Rod protested.

"How dare you give this Neanderthal reject and I common cause!" Bain accused.

"Yeah!" Rod agreed then stopped. "Wait."

"Ay! Stop treating me like I'm some joke!" the superheroine interrupted. "I just came up with a purr-fect name!"

"Great, she's doing cat puns," Rod grumbled.

"I. Am. Kitty…uh…Girl!" the now named Kitty Girl proclaimed.

All together now…

"Super lame," the three guys deadpanned.

"Perhaps you ought to stick with Catwoman and risked Tim Burton suing your ass," Bain added. "What, did you think for three seconds and give up?"

"I put a lot of thought into that name!" Kitty Girl protested.

Looks like she didn't have many to work with, Mysterion supposed. Wincing, he berated himself. He should not be knocking on innocent bystanders no matter how deluded they were.

* * *

Passing by the construction site, Cartman was pouting to himself as he hoarded an opened bag of Cheezy Poofs to himself, dismayed by the fact that he hadn't much screentime recently. It wasn't fair! Why did he get to be neglected while everybody else got their own subplots and character development and—huh? Was someone talking over there?

Coming to a stop, he backed up and peered over at the site where he thought he had heard voices.

His eyes widened and he dropped his precious bag.

Oh my God. There was the villainous Mysterion! And wait…were those…? It was that new kid Rod and that short asshole Bain! Jesus Christ, they were making an unholy alliance, an Axis of Evil if you will. And up there, there was someone else…who the hell was it and why was he reminded of Michele Pfeiffer?

Never mind, he needed to get home! This looked like a job for…

The Coon!

* * *

This…this was not going at all like she had planned it. Here she was, ready and pumped to lend a hand to the hero she adored when it looked like he needed a hand. And there with him, not one but two bad guys. Two against one were not very good odds.

But…why was he and the bad guys making fun of her to her face? It maddened her and she swore that she was going to show them not to underestimate her. Sure, she had a stumble with her name but damn it, she was totally serious right now. She could figure out a name later; for now she would be Kitty…Girl but she would make both of those bad guys down there regret taking her lightly.

Reaching back she yanked on a cable that was attached to her back and called out, "Is my wire-fighting crew ready back there?"

"Crew? I'm the only one down here you asshole!" Mari shouted back.

"Right," Roxi…Kitty Girl stated, getting into the game. Then declaring out to the baddies before her, "Beware servants of evil and cower before my might!"

She leapt off her perch, readying her legs for a one-two kick action. She felt the cable behind her tighten and pull back, slowing her descent enough so that she could take aim. Muscles braced and then her legs lashed out, kicking them out in what would undoubtedly be devastating blows that would fell both of her enemies.

Devastating blows that didn't reach either of the criminals as she didn't quite reach them, a good couple feet existing between them and her feet. The two scumbags stared at her, giving her odd looks as if wondering what she was trying to do. Really, why weren't they cooperating with her? She needed to make a good impression on Mysterion!

"Uh, good you guys move closer by three feet?" she asked them. "You're standing too far away."

She narrowed her eyes as the tall blond one whose jaw dropped open…hey, he kinda looked like Rod. Wow, and he was buff too. And the guy he was holding looked like that creepy Bain guy from school and he was looking at her with…disgust? Hatred? She couldn't really tell.

The Bain lookalike suddenly rammed the heel of his palm into the side of the Rod lookalike's face and kicked one of his feet right into the guy's gonads. She winced in sympathy as the Rod lookalike squeaked in pain. The Rod lookalike's grip on the Bain lookalike slipped and the smaller of the criminal's took the opportunity given to him to grab the taller, bent over criminal's head and bash it against his knee.

Shoving the Rod lookalike away, the lookalike coming to a stop at a surprised Mysterion's feet, the Bain lookalike launched himself into the air and tackled her. Roxi—Kitty Girl wasn't sure if there was a cry of surprise that came from far away and sounded a bit like Mari—her wire-fighting team or if it was from herself.

The Bain lookalike shoved himself off of her and snatched the cable that had allowed her to do her totally awesome fighting technique, and pulled down on it. Using the excess cable he had received from the pull, he used it to wrap around her neck and pull her up onto her feet, the tip of a large knife slightly pressing itself into the underbelly of her chin.

She found herself stiffening as the Bain lookalike hissed into her ear, "You have balls doing this, bitch. How come every time a guy dresses up like a Batman knockoff, some girl gets it into her head that she can not only do the same thing but do it better?"

She would have struggled, really, but there was that knife that was so close to her head…and she didn't know if her jugular artery went into her lower jaw or not. Hold up for a second, why was this Bain lookalike also talking like Bain from school? Just because he looked like him didn't mean that he…was…him…oh Christ this wasn't a lookalike, was it?

"I should gut you like a fucking fish," the real Bain growled at her as he began backing up and taking her with him. "You're out of your league."

This was…great, wasn't it? She wasn't taking on a criminal but a supervillain. She just needed to turn this around now, didn't she? The cable around her neck started going taut, probably because her wire-fighting team had recovered but now was not a good time for that.

Snarling, Bain removed the knife from under her chin and used it to slice the cable above her head and that was the opening she needed to stomp down on his foot and push away from him. Spinning around, she let out a feline hiss and swiped at him, her fingers curved as if they were claws.

Was it a bad time to realize that she had nothing sharp at the ends of her fingers? Yeah, this costume was…well, it was still being made. She made a mental note to herself to find some kind of sharp, metal instrument that was small and could be placed on a fingertip.

Bain snorted at her, snatching her extended arm by the wrist and pulling it away, striking her with the butt of his knife right in the side of her face. Pain seemed to explode in her head as Bain had not held anything back. She hadn't considered the possibility that she would have been hit at any time but as it seemed to be, she was learning just how hard it was to be a heroic vigilante.

The hard way naturally.

Excuse the pun.

A foot slammed into her stomach and as she was unprepared for it, it did some damage to her. As she felt like she was coughing up a lung, she crouched on the floor, holding her stomach in agony, waiting for the next blow to come which it never did. She looked up from where she was and watched in awe as Mysterion grappled with Bain, fighting for the deadly weapon that he held.

She winced as Bain elbowed Mysterion in the head and pushed him away, turning away from the hero and snatching the forgotten cable once again, along with her. With a mighty shove, he pushed her harshly and only at the last second, she realized that she was heading for the edge of the third floor.

The edge which did not have a wall but a gaping maw that would be leading to a mighty big fall and certain pain.

She tried to slow down, really she did, but when it seemed like she was about to go plunging out into certain death, she managed to spin on her heel and grab the cable which Bain still held, jerking to a halt to which she was leaning out into the stormy outside, her feet pressed dangerously against a revealed metal girder. It was a dangerous balancing act here and the one person keeping her from falling into the abyss was the very person most likely to be voted to have no mercy.

Bain, however, was not looking at her but at Mysterion who was now regarding him warily. She couldn't see Bain's face as he was faced away but from the way Mysterion was glaring at the guy, it must have been something that only a crazed supervillain would have.

"She has nothing to do with this," Mysterion stated. "She's in over her head."

"But that didn't stop her from interrupting us, did it?" Bain countered, loosening his grip on the cable slightly, turning Kitty Girl's state of being frightened for her life to scared shitless. "She should be made to realize the error of her arrogance, wouldn't you agree?"

"You won't," Mysterion stated.

"I would," Bain replied, an answer that really sent shivers up Kitty Girl's spine.

"Don't hurt her, just let her go," Mysterion tried to argue.

Bain's head tilted slightly and was it her or did he make an "ooh" sound? You know, the kind of "ooh" that meant "you didn't just say that".

"Not to rip off Christophe Nolan but very poor choice of words," Bain said.

Behind her, there was a flash of lightning and the next thing she knew, gravity had taken hold of her.

* * *

The lightning bolt flashing through the sky outside could not have come at a better time to underscore the depravity within the sociopath. Mysterion, however, was not dwelling on it as he sprinted past Bain, arm outstretched to catch the rapidly disappearing cable with its precious load still holding onto it for dear life.

He managed to grab the frayed end but it was too late for him to stop as now he too was going over the edge. It was quick thinking that allowed him to grab onto the edge with his free hand but now he and the badly named Kitty Girl were in a new peril.

He did his best to tighten his unsure grip on the cable while looking up towards his other hand and noticing in dismay that he was slipping. His gloved hand was not proving to have any traction with the metal girder he was holding on to and it was only a matter of time until they were both falling.

Looking down at Kitty Girl, he spotted an open window that the girl could possibly get into, providing there was no glass in the way. He highly doubted there would be any as the rest of the building was incomplete. Unfortunately, the window was not directly below him but was a few feet to his right. He was going to have to swing her over to it.

He had to save her because unlike him, she didn't have any extra lives stored up anywhere.

"Listen to me!" he called down to her. Making sure he had her attention, he continued, "You see that opening over there? I'm going to swing you over to it and you're going to climb into it. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she croaked out, looking as every bit afraid as she should be.

Slowly, he began to swing the arm that held the cable, straining with the action of doing so as he was practically hanging on to the girder above by his fingertips. He gritted his teeth as he exerted more and more strength, get her closer and closer to the window with each swing until she managed to get a foot into the opening.

"I got it!" she cried out to him.

Good. Now he couldn't feel guilty…

And now air was buffeting all around him as his grip failed him and he fell towards the rapidly approaching ground below. He released the cable from his other hand, not wanting to unintentionally drag the girl out of the glassless window. He could hear her cry out his name but he ignored it in favor of bracing himself for impact in three…

Two…

One—

Ow. Ow. Ow ow ow ow OW OW OW OW OW BITCH!

Apparently there wasn't just earth beneath him. A water pipe was now impaled through his body and the world was slowly fading away…

* * *

A few moments later, Kitty Girl rushed out of the under construction building, frantically looking for the place where her hero had landed.

Drops of water were beginning to fall from the sky but that wouldn't deter her from finding the man that had just saved her life and not even Mari could get her to stop after the other girl had discovered her running around like a maniac.

And then, as if her eyes were drawn there, she found him. She felt her heart drop as she saw him lying on the ground but what really was the cincher here was that ugly water pipe sticking out of his chest. He…he hadn't landed on it…had he?

She was at his side in an instant, keeping her eyes from lingering on the bloody pipe and training them on Mysterion's peaceful face. It was almost surreal in a way. He didn't look so harsh or dark anymore. It was like he had made peace with this life and had let it go when the time…had…came…

Tears welled up in her eyes but she refused to let them flow. Instead, she took the domino mask off, disregarding Kitty Girl so that now there was only Roxi. She…she could remove his mask now and find out once and for all just who it was that was beneath the mask…

She couldn't do it. She just couldn't. It wouldn't be right, not like this.

Leaning over him, his head now in her lap, she looked at his lips curiously and slowly began to descend towards them. This wasn't the kind of kiss she had been looking for but…the time just felt _right_, you know?

It was almost like he was still alive how those lips seem to part as hers grew closer and closer to them until…

There was an odd choking sound coming from Mysterion's throat and the next thing Roxi knew, a spurt of blood shot out from those angelic lips and right into her face. She flung her head back and away from Mysterion's shocked and appalled at the latest denial in her quest for her Spiderman kiss.

"Goddamn it!"

* * *

The rain was starting to come down now. After what had seemed like hours of waiting for it to come, it had finally came which was not greeted happily by the pair that was slowly making its way to a certain construction site.

Every fiber of Charlie's being was screaming at her to find some kind of niche or hole in the ground to curl up in and wait out the storm but for perhaps the first time in her life, she was resisting that siren call.

Not one of her better ideas, mind you, but she had something to do out here.

The thunder and lightning, though, were really good at what it did best, which was scare the shit out of her. Fighting against the fear that reared up with each roar of thunder or streak of lightning was a monumental struggle with each boom and flash that she either saw or heard. It was a struggle that became more and more demanding with each one and even she knew that she was running out of the will necessary to go out in this shit.

Was it ego that was prompting her to come out here? Was it the fact that her word actually meant something and when she said she was going to be somewhere, she was going to be somewhere? Or was it just her being incredibly stupid that she didn't know when to call it quits?

It was questions that were better left to smarter minds than hers but in the meantime, she was venturing out into this little piece of hell, using Sunny as a quasi-crutch to do so. Neither had a car at their disposal and Bain was enough of a dick to make it hard for her to take his. That left walking as the only other option. An option that would take them into downtown South Park. In the middle of the fucking storm of the century.

Oy.

They were practically at the fence line of the site when Charlie found her knees giving out. Fear had finally struck at her mobility but she refused to kneel, using Sunny to keep her upright while the other girl struggled against her weight.

As she had done for practically the whole ordeal, she adjusted the suck-ass ear plugs she wore, slightly peeved that they weren't keeping out all the sound. Who knew Bain kept a bowl of them in his room? You learned something new every day.

"Are we there?" Sunny managed to gasp out though hers was more from physical exhaustion than it was from psychological strain.

"Yeah," Charlie grunted. "We're here."

Damn, she sure chose an ominous looking place to have a showdown. Now where the hell were those assholes in there?

A scream jolted the two girls and Charlie thought to herself that that scream was a bit feminine. Who the hell was here and why were they invited when all she got was a choke hold?

"Come on," she ordered Sunny. "We're going in."

* * *

Bain watched with sharp eyes as Rod pushed himself up onto his knees, the shorter teen taking small, casual steps towards the other. He toyed with Winslow, never taking his eyes off Rod for a second as he pondered how things had gotten to this point.

"You know," he began speaking, "I had originally wanted to lure you up here so that perhaps I could fake your own suicide. It was simple getting you up here, wasn't it? Destroying that Harley of yours insured you would come up here but once you arrived, we had to have a party crasher. Now you have all sorts of signs of there being an assault."

He sighed, more than a little ticked off that McCormick had to ruin such a brilliantly conceived planned. There would be police coming here to investigate a body and they would find the signs of a fight being there. It would call into question there being a suicide. He learned from his crimes, thank you very much. Even though there was no effort made with the murder of their previous principal, he knew that there would have been less suspicion if it had appeared Estrada had hung himself in his office, leaving a note behind that he himself was responsible for the freezing of the school.

Sadly, he hadn't thought to do that at the time, what with him being pissed off and hungry for a little revenge. He had hoped to ply what he had learned and what he had come up with here but no, he had to be denied again.

"Oh well," he shrugged. "Everything's fucked up now; let's go the whole nine yards."

The whole nine yards could have meant anything at this point but for this set of circumstances, it involved stabbing Winslow straight into some part of Rod. Now there would be signs of a knife being used in the assault.

Philosophy aside, Winslow did indeed stab Rod and the place Rod was stabbed was in his back.

Rod cried out but twisted his waist enough that he threw a punch right into Bain's gut. Grunting as he moved back from Rod, Winslow still in Rod's back, he found he had his hands full when it turned out that knifing the bastard actually galvanized him into an almost berserker state.

Bain decided to take advantage of his shorter, more lithe form and dodge all the punches Rod was swinging at him, slightly fearing that one of those punches might do more than knock his block off. The way the blond's face was contorted with anger, it would be best to let him wear himself out before going in for the kill…

That had been the plan but before it could last ten seconds, it too was ruined like his previous one. Rod caught the end of his trenchcoat the pulled back on it and Bain found Rod's fist barreling down on him with no possibility for escape this time.

He closed his eyes in anticipation and was not disappointed with what felt like a freight train ramming the right side of his cheek. His head flopped around when it became apparent that Rod's punch wasn't strong enough to decapitate him but perhaps that would have been a blessing.

Rod scooped his body with a muscled arm and forced him into a vertically standing girder. Maneuvering the arm so now that it was holding him up against the metal beam, Rod rammed another punch into his gut and then another, not giving him the time to try and regain the air that left his body.

A third blow and then a fourth to his face and Bain was seeing stars as the back of his head slammed against the girder he was pressed against. The next thing he was aware of, he was flying through the air before coming to a jarring halt on the floor, sliding a bit until he stopped just before the edge of the third story. Any further and it would have been his turn to fall out to the unwelcoming earth below.

There were stomps that seemed louder than the thunder and rain outside and then the vertically challenged sociopath felt something wrapping around his neck and squeezing. He choked, cracking open his eyes to see Rod hovering over him, the behemoth's hands strangling him without mercy.

Bain tried to kick his legs but it was a pathetic display of resistance as the best he could go for were Rod's legs and those were as thick as tree trunks, most likely strong as one too. Rod was focused on the task at hand and Bain was slightly disappointed that there wasn't any banter coming from the physically stronger teen. He coughed, finding it harder and harder to get the necessary oxygen he needed to live.

Blast it all, nothing had gone right tonight. And to think, this was how it was going to end. He would have preferred the apples to this. Funny, he was starting to black out for a second at a time and every time he did, he could see those red monstrosities bearing down on him. Crushing him so, so slowly…

There was a crack, one that sounded nothing like lightning, and suddenly Rod's grip on his neck had loosened dramatically along with a piece of wood bouncing off Bain's head. Precious air returned to his lungs and he sucked it all in greedily. Meanwhile, Rod was holding himself up by an arm, his hand pressed down on the floor to keep him from falling over.

Slowly, Bain made out movement as Rod slowly turned his head towards something behind him and Bain found he had to scoot his head over a bit, nudging the same piece of wood that had bounced off him a second ago. There behind Rod's mammoth back was that Sunny girl who was holding the broken off end of a two-by-four and watching Rod nervously as the teen stood up from his crouched position.

As the blond advanced on that pink blurb, Bain pushed himself up slightly as he gasped and panted, a hand touching his neck gingerly. A flash of lightning lit their surroundings up a bit and Bain's eyes immediately honed in on Winslow, the light glinting off its blade even though it was still sticking out of Rod's back.

"You're so annoying you little fuck," Rod hissed at the pink-haired girl. He grabbed the girl's broken two-by-four and tore it out of her hands, bringing his other hand back and then lashing it out, bitchslapping the girl silly. "I should have wasted your ass when I fucked you."

Bain took his chance. He shot up and threw himself onto Rod's back, grabbing Winslow's handle and yanking it out. Rod let out a cry of surprise but before he could try and grab him again, Bain let himself fall off the giant bastard, landing into a crouch.

Reversing his hold on Winslow, he threw his arm out between Rod's legs and stabbed upwards, Winslow slicing straight up into Rod's groin. Rod's scream was not loud as it was more high in pitch, a prolonged squeal of agony as Bain twisted Winslow, further destroying the one area of Rod's body that the blond adored so much.

With a last burst of effort, Bain grabbed the back of Rod's tank top and pulled back with all the might he had left in him. Disabled by the devastating wound in his groin, Rod fell backwards easily, Bain ducking between and under his legs. Unfortunately for Rod, there wasn't any floor for him to land on as he fell out of the unfinished building, gravity taking hold of him and plummeting him down to the ground below.

There was a loud crash and then silence, the only sound being those of the thunder and the rain pitter-pattering on everything not sheltered.

Slowly, Bain peeked over the edge, spotting Rod easily as the teen had landed on top of his totaled motorcycle and he was wasn't moving. He wasn't sure but it looked to him that Rod's head was at an unnatural angle with his body but he'd have to get a closer look for confirmation.

He was soon reminded that he wasn't quite alone as the sound of harsh breathing caught his attention, which he turned towards the Sunny girl who was staring at him like he was something she had never seen before. She had one of her hands pressed to a cheek, one that was more than likely going to swell into a large bruise. Not that she would be alone; he'd have a matching one.

"What are you doing here?" he rasped out, reminded of his throttling from earlier. He pressed his hand against his throat, rubbing it to try and relieve some of the trauma inflicted on it.

"Charlie," the Sunny girl said. "She…she wanted to come."

Immediately scanning the area, he spotted Charlotte near the stairwell, clutching onto the doorframe as if it was her only lifeline.

That fucking idiot.

Growling (and wincing from the shot of pain that followed) Bain got back onto his feet and marched over to the future winner of the Darwin Award, shrugging off his trenchcoat as he moved. Reaching Charlotte, he whipped the coat around her head, blocking the sight of the storm from without and placing his hands over her ears.

He found himself groaning involuntarily as one arm and then the other attached themselves to him, Charlotte's covered head resting itself on his shoulder. He might want to get himself checked out; he might have a bruised rib or something.

Glancing down at the girl who had stupidly disobeyed him, he rolled his eyes as he suppressed the urge to put her out of her misery. It'd be simple too; she was in no state of mind to resist him.

The things he did for this twit…_his_ twit.

Aware that Sunny was approaching them, he looked up at her, demanding to know what else she wanted, this is if there was anything else she could want.

"What?" he snapped, his voice incredibly hoarse.

To his bewilderment, the girl looked at him shyly, her arms hiding themselves behind her back while one of her feet scuffled the floor.

"Can…can I have your autograph?" the Sunny girl asked hopefully. "I-I've…I've never got to…see a slasher in action…in p-person before…"

If there was a God up there, it would be a good time to strike him down. Now.

* * *

It was almost strange the way Rod just laid upon that heap of twisted metal, Sunny found.

It was obvious, now that she was up close, to see that his neck was broken but that wasn't what hailed her attention. It was the blood that leaked from his mouth, from the gash on his head, from the open wound in his crotch and from the arm in which a broken bone could be seen spearing through the skin.

And then there was the motorcycle. It seemed like it had only been a few days ago that he had been riding on, driving it out of the girl's fortress of solitude with her hanging onto him from behind.

And now here laid the valiant "knight" on top his "stead," broken and defeated while the "dragon" remained alive and at large. She could remember the day she had first met him but never in his mind could she have ever imagined that this was where it would lead.

But he wasn't a valiant knight. He wasn't even valiant or a knight. She knew better now and that looks were more than just deceiving; they could be flat-out lies. Rod…had been a perfect example of that for her.

Maybe she was struck with an epiphany then or maybe she had realized something she always knew. Whatever it was, she was looking away from the conquered monster and towards the impassive "dragon" that took the form of Bain Cynis who didn't even spare her a glance. With a small smile, she followed after him and Charlie as they trekked out into the storm.

She had always been more a "dragon" fan anyway.

* * *

Shielded from the acidic barrier that was surely placed as an obstacle to fend him off, the true hero of South Park arrived on the scene, clawed fingers ready and willing to cut open any rapist or murderer that got in their way.

"Fear not! It is the Coon! Here to save the day and make the villains pay!" The Coon announced, the Coon Umbrella held in one hand to protect him from the falling drops of acid. "Say, that's not bad…I ought to get that copyrighted as my catchphrase."

Legal ramifications aside, it was time for The Coon to shine and once again show the folks of this town that he was its true savior…

Uh, was that a dead body over there? It kinda looked like that Rod asshole from school. As he knelt down to get a better look at it, tires came to a screeching halt nearby as a cop car with flashing lights came onto the scene.

The next thing The Coon knew, his allies in law enforcement were aiming their guns at him.

"Freeze Bruce Vilanch! Step away from the body and put your hands up!"

Realizing what this looked like, The Coon scowled. Very clever, he silently told his unknown nemesis though he had a feeling it was Mysterion or Kyle who was behind this. Framing him for murder so that he would be isolated and hunted by the very people he was trying to protect.

"I did not do this!" he shouted to his misguided allies. "I am on your side!"

"Save it for the judge, Vilanch," one of the cops yelled back. "Hopefully he won't think you're insane because of that ridiculous rat costume you're wearing."

Motherfucker.

* * *

Damien was pouting as he stared grimly out into the stormy night. He was alone now, having dismissed Azazel after his demonic servant had informed him of tonight's proceedings.

So his babysitter's mortal coil was unshuffled and the handsome rapist of South Park was on his way down to his father's kingdom. Not how he had hoped things would have turned out.

Then again…this might be for the better. Despite the events of this evening, nothing had changed. His own plans were still advancing and no one was even aware of them. So long as he kept his mouth shut about having this storm come in unexpectedly, Charlie would be none the wiser to his attempted assassination.

However, he would have to keep an eye on her little boy toy. Though he doubted the damned mortal could do anything to him, it didn't hurt to make sure that a potential kink didn't cause everything to fall apart.

Next time, Charlie. Next time.


	30. Prelude to Hell

Author's Note: The final chapter of Fiends and it's been what, nine months? It seems so long ago I started posting this bitch. Still, quite a journey right? Did anyone ever think things would end up like they did? Well, once again, a very open-ended ending. Any of you want to see where this goes, check out Zephyr Morpheus Lee's _Hell's Babysitter_. Shameless advertising, yes, but a few of the things that ZML wrote showed up in _Fiends_, one in particular being the opening scene of this chapter.

Anyway, I'd like to give a big thank you to my reviewers in particular ShadowMajin who reviewed every single chapter and helped me out on certain bits, the previous chapter's Roxi scene being one of them which I did not give him credit. And it is also from his twisted mind that that disgruntled Bus Driver comes from. Other reviewers I'd like to thank for reviewing most, if not all chapters are ZML, Red Rose of Kyle Broflovski, MrMissMrs Random, Roxi2Star, -Beyond The Horizon-, and Misha Novak.

At the same time, I'd like to give an apology to xoxoAndWhatxoxo, O.o-Fox-fire-o.O, IFreakingLoveYouNot, and divineravyn too lazy to login. You guys sent in your OCs and I barely used them if at all. They were good, though in O.o-Fox-fire-o.O's case I tend to give them either bit or pivotal parts before forgetting about them unintentionally, but the fault for barely using them rests with me. To be honest, I did not expect the initial response I got to this story and had more OCs than I could handle. I wasn't able to come up with roles for these barely used and almost forgotten OCs and they ended up barely in the story as a result. Once again, I'm sorry but when it comes to putting a canon character or an OC in a role, I usually try to use the canon character first because, hey, this is South Park fanfiction and wouldn't really qualify as one if there aren't South Park canon characters in it.

Anyway, I will say right now I am open to writing one more installment for this storyline. Really, I'm game. Just waiting for ZML to post a few more chapters so I get where she wants to go, even though we had quite the discussion over it the other day and let me say, I like where she wants to go. Want more Charlie/Bain interaction, she's the person to go to. Anyway, what ultimately prevents me from sitting down and writing a third installment is that I have no idea what to do. I have no plot idea that can serve as the main plot. I've taken the "give a character amnesia" and "somebody new moves into town" plots that seems so popular in a bunch of fandoms and put a few spins on them. Probably not original spins but at least they were different in some ways, right? I'm more than willing to do something original and am willing to give credit to anyone that suggests something that captures my imagination. In the event that something does occur to me, here's your chance to give me permission to continue using your OCs from this story in the next one. Same offer from _Stranger in those Homicidal Eyes_, send me a review or PM that tells me I can continue using your OC or resubmit when I post the new story. Don't, and like with SITHE, I will drop the character and plotline they had going altogether. Makes for awkward transitioning but that's just how it rolls.

Last but not least, the final results of the poll for most popular OCs in this fic. Only going up to fifth place. Tied for first place is Zephyr Morpheus Lee's Charlie and my Bain. For third place is another tie between -Beyond The Horizon-'s Kyra and ShadowMajin's Bus Driver. Fifth place has another tie, this time between PinkParka's Bonnie and FunkyChicken001's Brianna. Okay, so technically it's six places but they were all tied. For information on the other places, send me a PM.

So, until we meet again, enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own South Park.

Warning: language

Prelude to Hell

She hadn't seen Rod yet but Wendy figured that it was best to get this over with as soon as possible. No sense dwelling on it all day; besides she had broken up with Stan in the morning before. It wouldn't be unusual as they had broken up, what, countless times before and the time of day had never mattered.

Twice at recess, twelve times in the morning, once between second and third period, five times at lunch (she vividly recalled those as someone usually covered with food at the end), the list goes on. Majority happened at night though. She had never really thought about it like this or realized she had kept a mental tally.

This was like one bad fanfiction story on the internet.

Well buck up girl. You've done this before…just not with this sense of finality about it. She knew that if she ever considered another relationship with Stan again, she would always remember that one infidelity. Wasn't it supposed to be the guy who cheated?

There he was, she could see him. It was almost game time and Rod had yet to show up. Well, even if he wasn't here, he would find out soon enough. She was going to make sure everyone remembered this break up. Stan, be strong.

Squaring her shoulders and putting on her most pissed off look, she marched towards her unsuspecting boyfriend.

As she came into hearing distance, she exclaimed, "Stan! I've been looking all over for you!"

The deer in the headlights look was cute on him and she further regretted what she had done behind his back and what she was about to do.

"Wendy? Is something wrong?" Stan asked, concerned. Wow, he was paying attention to her. Now that she thought about it, he had been distant with her lately. That thought alone heated up some of the anger she had been feeling only a couple days ago. Maybe she could use it so that she could get through this ordeal.

"Wrong? You've been ignoring me and you wonder if something's wrong?" she laid into him, her guilt being the only thing that held her back from really flaying him alive.

"I've been busy," he defended. "And…and you haven't really been around either!"

"You never called me," she accused.

"Ditto," he shot back.

Okay, he was fighting back. This was just going to make it easier for her to say something she knew was going to be ugly. Yes, this was starting to give the signs that this was going a nasty breakup. Damn it Stan, why couldn't you be docile for this one?

She saw him lean his head slightly and something change in his eyes. Curious despite herself, she glanced towards where he was looking and spotted Kyle turning a corner, not even looking at them. Shooting her eyes back to Stan, she saw that there was this hint of forlornness in his expression. He looked so sad…this was going to make this all the more harder.

But maybe…maybe she could use it.

"Jesus, Stan! Don't you get that I can't handle all of these mood swings!" she cried out.

Let him take that as he will. She could mean anyone's mood swings. Hers or Stan's.

"You never complained before!" Stan protested. Ah, so he thought she meant his. She'd just have to roll with it.

"I complain about it constantly, but you don't bother hearing about it! You only listen when we break up!" she said accusingly. Well, it wasn't a lie. She had complained about it before but if Stan was smart enough…or aware of it, he would know that she hadn't complained about such a thing since they got back together.

"So what, are we breaking up or something?" Stan demanded, looking frustrated.

Wow. He set it all up for her. Guess she might as well knock'em down.

"I guess we are!" she confirmed though she felt a little bit of herself die on the inside. This is what that asshole Rod wanted, right? Yes she had betrayed Stan and the fact that she had allowed herself to be tricked laid all the blame solely on her. She had wanted to believe those lies at the time and because she had, this is where she was.

Where they were.

So focused on this, she hadn't noticed the crowd around them, giving them room and not venturing too close should either of the two snap at them. They were watching but none of them looked interested. No, they were all bored, waiting for them to go through the rounds and to breakup temporarily.

"Well, then, you're a real bitch about it, aren't you?" Stan spat at her, now with an angry expression on his face. Normally, her own anger would block or shield her from the barbs Stan would throw at her but this time she didn't have it. And it stung. It really did. She never fully realized just how harmful the words they said to one another during one of their angry breakups.

Ignorance was truly bliss here.

Nevertheless, that didn't stop her from fighting back. Let no one say that Wendy would take this kind of crap lying down. "Oh, at least I'm not some selfish prick! All you care about is when we have sex!"

"Because it's important!" Stan argued. "_I_ at least thought that maybe you enjoyed it too!"

A brief flashback. That's what she had. A brief flashback to the times when she and Stan would lay with one another and the gentle caresses…which were then replaced with the memory of Rod and how rough and dominant he had been.

The memory of her betrayal, still so fresh…maybe that was why she said what she did next. Members of their little audience, you are about to get the show that you want so much.

"Well you know what, Stan? Last week, I faked it! Yeah! Shove that up your ass and see how it works for you!"

It was completely mean, a blow so low that Stan was standing on it. The unfortunate part is that again, there was a nugget of truth in there. Whether it was because she had something to compare it to, she didn't know but when she said what she had said, she had said it with meaning.

Already the whispers were starting and Wendy took that as her cue to exit, stage right.

As soon as she was out of sight, she slumped in on herself. That…that had taken a lot more out of her than she had thought it would. Yet the deed was done and there was no doubt that this would be all over the school before first period. She sure hoped that Rod was happy now.

"Wendy!" a voice called at her and she turned to see Bebe hurrying over towards her. Perfect, even though the trauma of breaking up with Stan was over, she was going to have to relive it again with her best friend. Great.

"Bebe?" she sighed, waiting to get it over with.

"Wendy! You won't believe this!" Bebe exclaimed, obviously excited over something. "I just heard that they found Rod over at that construction site, you know the one in downtown, and that he was dead! Police found him there and you won't believe who they arrested!"

Wait. What? Rod was dead? What was…when…how…what the hell was going on? But she had just…and she did…

"Wendy? Are you listening to me?" Bebe demanded. "The police think Eric Cartman killed Rod. When they arrested him, he was dressed up as Bruce Vilanch in a rat outfit. Can you believe it?"

"Rod's dead?" Wendy cracked, trying to make sense of this. This…this had to be some kind of black comedy sketch or something. There was no way this could be…that Rod could…that she hadn't had to do what she had just done…

"Yeah! I can't fucking believe it," Bebe shook her head. First Devin, now Rod. Hey, do you think Cartman might have been the one to kill her? I would say it was you know who who was responsible but still, they found Cartman there and…hey, are you okay Wendy?"

No Bebe. She was not okay. She wasn't sure if she would ever be okay again.

* * *

"How many times do I have to tell you? I've got dibs on Kenny!"

"Why is it _you_ who gets to have Kenny? I like him too!"

"But I called him first. Pick someone else!"

Gwendolyn was not surprised that the argument between Brittany and Bonnie was heating up but what did surprise her was that her old group was dividing into Pro-Brittany and Pro-Bonnie factions. LESBIAN was tearing itself apart over the rule of one guy to a girl. Neither of the two girls were going to back down from the other and both were determined that only one would have Kenny.

Gwendolyn knew it was something that she should have taken care of the first minute she had been confronted by it. Oh well, it looked like it would be the wound that would kill the group off in the end.

She snorted to herself even as she eavesdropped on the "meeting" the girls in there were holding. She was not going to save them from themselves, not this time. They had kicked her out, remember? And if anything, Gwendolyn was a bit of a vindictive person.

Without her leadership, LESBIAN would fall. It was too bad, though. She had heard about the recent breakup Stan had had with Wendy and she could have used their help to make Stan hers again.

Oh well, maybe her new group could help her with that. Sure, she was the only member of it right now but that didn't stop her from trying to lure away a couple of LESBIANs to her new group and continue her cause.

Many Unfortunate Females Focusing Deliberately and Intentionally Very Egotistical and Randy. Or, as she called it herself: em you eff eff dee eye vee ee are.

MUFFDIVER didn't sound too bad, did it?

* * *

Naturally, by now everyone had heard about the latest breakup between Stan and Wendy, in particular remarking about just how ugly it was this time. Kyle felt for his best friend, he really did. Having someone imply to just about anyone in hearing distance that you were a bad lay was tantamount to having a death sentence put on you.

Fortunately for Stan, he was the quarterback for the school and considered highly desirable, so much so that this thing would be swept under the rug and forgotten about in no time.

It kinda made Kyle a bit envious; if he had that kind of popularity, perhaps some people might get on Cartman for always ripping on his Jewish ancestry. Oh well, life goes on, cows always take a shit in the pasture, and Cartman will forever remain the most bigoted asshole on the planet.

For some reason, the Jew…couldn't bring himself to comfort his best friend this time. He did not know why. Was it because there had been so many breakups between Stan and Wendy that he was desensitized to them? Sure, Stan would have a crisis, think about going Goth every once in a while, but ultimately he'd be okay. Did he really need to be at Stan's side even though this last one was a bit more harsh than previous ones?

Just thinking about it all made the Jew stare into his packed locker, mindlessly observing all the books and binders he had in there. He could see them but he really didn't process them; they were ordinary objects in here with no meaning and he couldn't make himself get into gear and grab what he needed. There was a bit of lethargy somewhere in here but he was not in the mood to fight against it.

Eventually, though, from force of habit and every studious thing ingrained into his head, he picked out the correct books and binders, stuffing them into his backpack. He usually grabbed enough stuff for two periods; that way he wouldn't always have to race over to his locker between classes.

As he closed his locker, he stopped from moving as he learned that someone had been using his locker door as cover. Yes, the person had black hair but no, this person was not Stan. His lips curved wryly as he asked himself why he was so surprised, note the sarcasm.

"Stalking me Damien?" he asked casually. "If so, you're doing it wrong."

"For what reason would I need to stalk you?" Damien answered with a question. "I just have to look into your soul to know everything there is to know about you. You should know I wouldn't stoop to such low, mortal means."

"I seem to recall you following me, without my knowledge, to where the old basketball court used to be and then ambushing me the moment I was alone," Kyle said dryly. "Is there something you want from me?"

"A question that you already know the answer to," Damien replied smoothly. "I want you to come back to me, Kyle. I was able to withstand all those horrible days without you with the knowledge that you were here, waiting for me to pick up where we last left off. Now I'm stuck on the surface and I have never felt lonelier."

"Give me a reason to consider why I should," Kyle told him. "I'm not going back to living in fear, wondering if one wrong move will have you forcing yourself into my life and making me worry for my very wellbeing."

"Am I such a scary person?" Damien pouted.

"Yes. Yes you are," Kyle answered plainly.

"It's because of my eyes, isn't it?" Damien demanded though there wasn't any force behind his words. Kyle paused, wondering if this was Damien trying to banter with him playfully.

"While unusual, I doubt it's your eyes," Kyle replied. "I think it's more your demeanor. You're so dark and antagonistic."

"Aww, I was hoping you'd say dark and evil," Damien whined.

With half-lidded eyes, Kyle deadpanned, "You would. Don't tell me Cartman told you that Christmas story of his."

"Well—" Damien began to say before he was interrupted.

"I said _don't_ tell me," the Jew stated. "Anyway, you give off these weird vibes. Not the kind that say you're eccentric or different. I'm talking about the kind that say you're dangerous and not afraid to torture someone."

"Well, I am the Antichrist," Damien said proudly.

"Ever want to be something different?" Kyle hazard.

"Yes, your lover," Damien rejoined with a hungry grin. "I used to be that. Let me become it again."

"And like I said, give me a reason why I should consider it," Kyle reiterated.

Damien cupped his cheek, stroking his thumb against his skin gently. "Because no matter how hard you deny it, you miss me Kyle. You miss the attention I give, the protection I offer, and the way I touch you that makes you feel electrified."

Kyle swallowed. "Those are some reasons…good reasons…and are you reading my soul or something? I could let the first two go but that last one I definitely never told or implied to you at all."

"I didn't because I already know you so well that I don't have to," Damien said in a voice so quiet and yet so audible that the Jew did not have to strain his hearing to hear. "Yet above all that I mentioned, I know for a fact that you enjoy that little thing that I do with my tongue."

Insert bright red blush here.

"Don't say that out loud where anybody can hear you!" he hissed, snapping his head from side to side to see if anyone was giving them looks.

"So modest," Damien chuckled. "It never ceases to amuse me."

"Always seems like someone gets a laugh at my expense," Kyle muttered, slightly relived to see that no one was paying any attention to them.

"Do you hear me laughing?" Damien inquired. "No, I wouldn't truly laugh at you unless you did something so epically stupid that you'd be a shoe-in for the Darwin Award for the next ten years. Everyone else I'd laugh at on a matter of principle. See how much I care about you?"

"Right. You're so reassuring," Kyle rolled his eyes but wasn't able to prevent a small smile from curving his lips upwards.

"Naturally," Damien agreed, apparently ignoring the sarcasm. "So, what would I have to do to get you to agree to come with me to some establishment where I can try and convince you to let me in your pants?"

Kyle stared, blinking at the Antichrist as he went over what he had just said. "You mean…you're talking about a date, right?"

"If that's what you mortals call it these days," Damien shrugged.

"Depends," Kyle answered. "Are there going to be any Deadites?"

"No…unless you want me to pray to my father for some?" Damien told him though the Jew could tell that the other was hoping he would agree.

"Got my fill of them the last time," Kyle said, looking away.

"Kyle, don't make me beg," Damien said lowly. "It would demean us both. Me for obvious reason and you, well let's just say it'd be embarrassing to say the least."

"Right, back to the threats, huh?" he asked sarcastically.

"I don't make threats," Damien replied, "but look at it this way. My powers are very limited now so I can't force you to do anything you don't want to. I'm stuck to mortal means and unfortunately my babysitter has sharp eyes. So, I am reduced to prostrating myself before you in the hope you take pity on me."

"When you put it that way," Kyle said slowly, "I guess what really matters is if you have your sitter's permission."

Damien's eyes lit up, reading between the lines. "So you're willing to…?"

"I'll give you a fighting chance," Kyle sighed. "Prove to me I don't have to be afraid of you and maybe we'll see about anything else."

He probably should have left it off at "fighting chance" because he could tell, Damien hadn't heard anything after that. Maybe he did, maybe he didn't, Kyle didn't know but what he did know was that the Antichrist looked like Christmas had come early for him.

Slinging an arm around his shoulders, Damien said, "You will not regret this, my pet. You'll see, before the night is over, I'll have you feeling so good that you'll want to be _bad_."

Kyle couldn't help the smile on his face grow larger at the promise.

* * *

"Hey, have you heard?" Sawyer asked his (insert slight blush here (hey, he was getting better!)) boyfriend the moment he found him.

Christian gave him a blank look, an obvious sign that no, he had not heard what Sawyer was talking about. Looking around nervously, something that made Christian raise an eyebrow at him, he took the effeminate boy aside and leaning in close so that he could speak privately.

"They found Rod over at the construction site last night," he whispered into the other boy's ear. "He's dead."

Sawyer pulled away, mostly so he could gauge how Christian was going to take the news. He had a couple of suspicions and he had spoken to Killer about them but he just wanted to be sure that they were just that, suspicions.

"That bastard's dead?" Christian asked him in a quiet voice, giving him his full, undivided attention. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," he confirmed. "A bunch of people are already talking about it and also, I went past the place on the way to school. Saw a bunch of cops and a totaled motorcycle. Couldn't see much else; a lot of people were moving around so it made it hard to see if it was him."

"And you're basing this off of that," Christian demanded.

"I'm pretty sure it was his bike," Sawyer told him. "Saw that thing a few times before he got that car. With how many people were around it, I'm thinking Rod was laying on top of it."

Okay, his arm was starting to go a bit numb now. Christian had gripped it as soon as he had made his argument. Sawyer figured, as a guy, he could take it for a bit before breaking down and pleading for it back but until then, he had a boyfriend to comfort.

Damn, would he ever get used to saying that word, even in his own head?

"He can't hurt you anymore," he told Christian softly. With his other arm, he brought him closer. "He won't be able to ambush you in the bathroom or try and push you against your locker. You're safe now."

"I wish I could believe that," Christian murmured. "If I could actually see…or at least…I…"

"It's gonna be okay," he cooed, rocking Christian side to side like he was a child. Managing to slip his numbed arm out of Christian's grip, he began doing his best to stroke the long, brown hair in a further attempt to soothe him. "If you want, maybe I could get Christophe to snap a photo of the body and show it to you. Would…would you like that?"

"That's pretty morbid," Christian said, looking up to make direct eye contact with him. "But I'd like that. To be sure that bastard got what was coming to him. Maybe, if it isn't too much trouble, could I find out what killed him?"

"Anything," Sawyer promised as he embraced the other teen tighter.

It didn't seem like Christian had anything to do with it. It was a silly thought anyway, thinking it was _Christian_ of all people who could have killed Rod. Still, he had to wonder.

Who did do it?

* * *

Bain sneezed, rubbing his nose in discomfort and slight annoyance. Please don't tell him he was getting a cold on top of things.

If he could have gone to a doctor, he would have but with the heat up, Bain knew that he would raise some kind of flag. A victim of assault found at the construction site and someone going to Hell's Pass for injuries consistent with an assault? He'd have to suffer with the soreness for now.

Lying low until things blew over looked to be the best choice in this situation.

Lying low happened to include him skipping another day from school. It wasn't something he wanted to do as a student only got so many days of absences before they were held back by default. With how many days he had missed already, only one of which was excused, he knew he was pushing his luck.

At least he was able to use his mother's backwards parenting skills this time around to get her to ease the pressure from the school district. The woman still saw him as a grade schooler, not seeing that he was not eight years old anymore.

He was eighteen thank you very much.

Yet, he still felt pleased with himself. Another kill, another notch to add to his metaphorical belt. Not the crowning achievement of his illustrious career but Rod wasn't a catch that he would throw back. Okay, he was a bit proud but that was only because he had managed to pull the thing off. For a bit, he had thought that his number was up, that perhaps this time he had bit off more than he could chewed. He wouldn't admit feeling such, not now or ever, but that fear, the fear of death…

Well, he had been on the cusp, hadn't he? Would that mean that he would be more careful or perhaps so overly cautious that he'd hesitate or avoid going after another kill? Was he damaged goods?

He snorted. Like hell. This was a fluke, what with that "hero" interfering. If it hadn't been for "Mysterion," he would have been able to dispose of Rod like he had originally planned. Nice, quick "suicide." It's painless, according to the song. Brings on so many changes.

There was a click, the so very familiar sound of someone turning the doorknob. He crossed his arms and glowered at the door, fully expecting his mother to be on the other side. He was once again proud of himself. He didn't change his facial expression, not even by a millimeter.

So his glower, without changing in its intensity, met up with Charlotte who he was pretty sure was skipping class.

"You look happy," the girl snarked. "Bathing in the sweet smell of success?"

"Success isn't a smell, it's a feeling," he replied, "and that feeling is intense soreness. If I wasn't apprehensive about raising some suspicion, I would probably have some kind of prescription pain killers with me."

"Then you'd be loopy. That ought to be fun to see," Charlotte remarked as she made herself at home leaning against his wall.

"What would be fun right now is to throttle you, non-lethally," he retorted.

"You've made progress; now you only want to hurt me, not kill me," she commented. Eyeing him over, she added, "I think I could take you."

"Some adrenaline would level the playing field," he growled.

"Maybe," she replied non-committingly

He raised an eyebrow. Nothing else? No more tough girl banter? She was holding back, wasn't she? Oh, he could read her, read her like a fucking book. What was on this girl's mind?

"Well?" he asked.

She frowned at him, crossing her arms defensively. "What?"

"You seem to be holding back," he pointed out blandly. "Usually we throw a few barbs at one another until one concedes only to do it again next time we meet and the time after that. Is there something on your mind, dear Charlotte?"

"Nothing," she said sharply. "I'm just…I just wanted to see how you were holding up. Rod kinda did a number on you."

"You're changing the topic," he grounded out.

"And so are you," she replied. Goddamn it, she was smirking at him.

"You know, I always find out," he told her quietly. "Keep as many secrets as you want, bury them a mile underground, I will dig them up. You know this. I know this. Care to save some time for once? Otherwise it's an exercise in futility."

"It would be easier but when have I ever done things the easy way?" Charlotte asked rhetorically. "I've never made things easy for you before so why do you think I would start now?"

"You wouldn't be you then," he finished for her.

"And you always like a challenge," she added. "Figure things out and shove it in my face like you always do."

"I only 'shove it in your face' because I demand some kind of reparation for my efforts," he said dryly. "Shoving it in your face usually gets me the most unique facial expressions out of you. It's not much but it tells me that I can make you really uncomfortable when I want to."

"Gives you power, that's what it does," she stated. "In some ways, and I hate to say this, but you might have had a few things in common with Rod. Rape is about power. Murder is about power, to you at least. You are two guys who want power."

"Control," he agreed reluctantly. "But that's what you want too, isn't it? For years Jackie-boy held control over your life—"

"I don't want to talk about him," she interrupted, her voice brooking no argument. "Not today."

Sensitive topic, Bain thought to himself. Once again, she had played into his hands. So Jack White had something to do with today. Even from beyond the grave, he still had some sort of hold over her. How did he do that? Well, he had a lot of time today and internet access. Another session of research seemed to be called for.

"Anyway, I just wanted to check up on you, see how you were doing, not get psychoanalyzed out of nowhere," Charlotte said, making to take her leave.

Oh, like he would let her get the last word.

"Do you know what the other name for rape is?" he asked idly.

Charlotte paused, looking over her shoulder at him, wondering what the hell he was going to say. She didn't have to ask "what" or anything; a look was all he needed.

"Unfinished murder," he said, looking her straight in the eye. "Going by that logic, Rod has more victims than I do. A bunch of walking, talking, _breathing_ corpses are walking the halls of our school. It's morbid, when you think about it. Of course, I'm going to have to do my damn hardest to beat that asshole at our own game."

"I've said this before but I'll say it again," Charlotte said slowly. "You are one sick fuck."

"I wouldn't be me if I wasn't," he replied, taking his turn to smirk.

* * *

"You believe me, right?" Stan asked pleadingly, eyes boring into Kyra hopefully. "I can satisfy girls just fine! Wendy's just…she's being a bitch! She was just trying to make me look bad!"

"I believe you Stan," Kyra managed to get in. Really, five minutes after meeting up with him and she hadn't been able to get a word in. It was kinda pathetic the way he was trying to plea to her that he wasn't bad in bed. She really didn't know if he was and had no basis to base him on. It was like walking up to a complete stranger and saying that your junk is thirteen inches long.

"Really? You really believe me?" Stan asked. He looked so much like a puppy then. She found that she couldn't bear to betray the trust he was putting in her to help him rebuild his shaken self-esteem. "Kyra, you have no idea how much this means to me."

Well, Stan, you have no idea how much it means to her that you came to her with this issue of yours.

"I tried to find Kyle but he wasn't around and Kenny was ignoring everybody," Stan added, inserting his foot into his mouth. "And I wouldn't dare go to Cartman, thank God he's in police custody right now. Craig and his guys were out too, especially since they would have told me to grow some balls and Jimmy would have just tried to tell me a joke that would have made me feel worse—"

"Okay, okay! I get it!" she interrupted him, flustered. Okay, so she wasn't his first choice to go to for this. Kinda put things into perspective.

"I mean, what's her problem?" Stan continued. "From out of nowhere, man. I just don't get it."

"These things happen…and sometimes girls like to be mean," she told him, trying to reassure him. "They can be worse than guys."

"You're telling me," Stan agreed. "If a guy's pissed at you, he punches you in the face. He doesn't go around telling lies about how you perform in bed."

There was nothing she could say to that, he said it perfectly. She know just how convoluted and elaborate girls could get if they were pissed at you. Rarely did one go up to your face and tell them what you did to piss them off. There were a few exceptions, mind you, but the vast majority always stabbed you in the back when you weren't looking.

The world of women was so much more savage than that of men.

"So what will you do now?" she asked, putting the question out there just for the sake of putting it out there. She honestly didn't know what she could do to prologue this conversation without them falling into some kind of awkward silence. Best to try and take Stan's mind off this, get him thinking. He ought to cheer up a bit if he wasn't thinking about that brutal breakup.

"I gotta do something about the gossip," Stan answered automatically, much to her dismay. He was still thinking about this thing, damn it. "I can't have people thinking that I suck at sex. I'm the motherfucking quarterback! I have to be great at it by default!"

"So you're going to do that how?" she asked, her throat becoming a bit dry.

"The fastest way would be to screw anything that moves and doesn't say no," Stan thought out loud. He grimaced as a thought occurred to him. "But then people will start thinking I've become a copycat of that asshole Rod. Like hell I'll be compared to him."

"How about you just say that Wendy was just trying to make you look bad so that you'll have to, I don't know, go back to her when no one wants to go out with you," she suggested, coming up with an idea that she herself thought only Hollywood would use on a bad day.

"That's not a bad idea but it's not enough," Stan murmured in agreement. Why…why wasn't she surprised by that? "But it's not enough! It's one thing to say that bitch is just trying to cut me off from everyone. I need something else, something that will make it look like I really don't care about what she said and that I can get anyone I want."

Kyra had a bad feeling about where this was going.

Stan looked up at her, his blue eyes lighting up as he reached the very conclusion that Kyra feared he would. "Say, would you like to be my next girl—"

"No!" she interrupted.

"What?" Stan blinked, surprised that she had cut him off before he could finished.

"Stan, I like you," she told him honestly. "I would love more than anything to go out with you but if this is some kind of rebound or scheme to get Wendy back, then no. I don't want that. I don't want to be used like some kind of tool and then tossed aside for the next best thing. I can't…I won't do that to myself."

Stan's jaw was lowered, hanging in the air as if he was being told something that went against everything he had ever been taught. Kyra shrunk in on herself, slightly berating herself for speaking so harshly to the guy that she had liked for so long.

In her head, though, she had a vision of Gary supporting her, telling her that she didn't have to be used if she didn't want to be, that her happiness was more important than bagging the man of her dreams. To think only a few weeks ago, Kyra couldn't bring herself to utter even a peep to this handsome specimen of a guy. Just when had she grown a backbone? When had she begun to value herself as a person and be so assertive?

The answer immediately came to her: when she had started spending time with Gary. Damn, she owed him so much.

"Wow," Stan finally managed to say.

She nodded her head, looking him in the eye defiantly. She dared him to try and propose what she knew he had just thought of. She wasn't Kyra right now, she was _PwnMaster Extremist_ (a screen name she thought befitting of her when gaming) and she took no shit from any one, n00bs and veterans alike.

"Well?" she prompted.

"That sounds…horrible," Stan said, his voice cracking. "I wouldn't…"

"What about Gwendolyn Long?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Who?"

She rolled her eyes at this. "Wendy 2."

"Oh! Her. Yeah…I didn't really do that to her, did I?" he asked worriedly.

"You did," she told him firmly. "You used her and when Wendy wanted you back, you dumped Gwendolyn like she was Apple's last iPhone. It was pretty bad."

"Jesus fucking Christ," Stan moaned as he covered his eyes, slouching backwards. "That's…that sounds like something Cartman would do! Or Rod! Or my father!"

"Don't be so hard on yourself," she tried to comfort him.

"Goddamn, what have I been doing?" Stan wailed. "What the fuck do I do now? What can I do? What—"

"Why don't you try calming down first," she instructed. As if she was one to talk. If she was playing, she wouldn't tell herself to calm down; she'd annihilate every n00b that got in her way, that's what she'd do. "How about you try and just ignore it? Show you don't care and let others make their own decisions?"

"No offense but that's too lame," Stan told her.

"Maybe," she shrugged, "but that other choice you have is to do something retarded that will make you look not only bad but bring you one step closer to becoming your dad."

Stan quickly crossed himself, shuddering at the thought. "So what was your idea again?" he asked.

"Just live," she said, not knowing how she could put it any other way. "Go through school like it was any ordinary day. If people ask you if what Wendy said was true, give them an honest answer. If they don't accept that answer, tell them to believe what they want because it doesn't matter to you what they think. Be cool about and confident in yourself and people will just think Wendy was saying a load of bull."

"Wow," Stan said again only this time it wasn't in shock. Now, she didn't know if what he said next was impulsive or if he was really serious but he nevertheless said it. "Would you be my girlfriend?"

"Not as a rebound," she repeated. "This soon after you're single? It doesn't make me feel comfortable."

"Oh come on!" Stan whined.

"If you want, we could go out on a date," she suggested.

"So you'll be my girlfriend?" Stan perked up.

"I said I'd be willing to go on a date with you," she said, her natural shyness finally triumphing over her and making her lower her eyes. "I didn't say I would become your girlfriend."

"I'm confused," Stan confessed. "How can you go on a date with someone if they're not together?"

She was glad he had asked that. She had once asked that question to Gary once.

"_Most people who go out on a date with someone is usually to get to know the other person better. If everyone were together before they went on a date, we would have more people getting divorced or no one would be single. What do you think first dates are? People going out on a first date do so to get to know the other person before they decide to go steady. Same with blind dates except you don't know who the other person is. Besides, it's stupid to go steady with someone before you know who they are, who they really are."_

Not verbatim but pretty close.

Stan was staring at her as if she had just given him the gospel. "I never thought about it that way," he said softly.

"A long time ago, neither had I," she admitted.

"I think I understand," Stan said. "Would you like to go out on a date with me? Not like girlfriend and boyfriend. Just friends."

"I would…_love_ that," she answered him, caving in to her desires.

In her mind, it was about time.

* * *

Brianna didn't really know what to feel when she learned of Rod's untimely demise.

There was a slight sense of loss but it wasn't something that was overwhelming. To be honest, Rod had been a friend, yes, but she hadn't been that close to him. They had their banters, their conversations, but it hadn't meant that much.

Not until that day he had begged her to come to his house. Followed him up to his room. Given her that…thing. Do to him what he had asked of her. It wasn't the kind of thing you could forget, you know?

What had he done to her?

Before…before she had been headstrong, sure of herself, but not determined to do anything or make something of herself. She was so content to continue as she was doing, being spontaneous every once in a while to liven things up.

Then Rod had strolled into her world and had added something, something so warm. As she had found out, he was a manwhore and liked to mess around. Kinda lowered her opinion of him but she found that she somewhat enjoyed just talking with him because however he was with other people, he was so friendly and kind with her. Made her feel a bit privileged, you know?

She had had a taste of what he could do, that night he stopped by when she had been working on some homework and she had been so sore and satisfied afterwards. Then there was that change and he had asked her to take charge and do something that she had found humiliating, to him at least. But it had been so empowering for her and on some basic level she had liked it.

She still couldn't believe it.

Late at night, she found herself surfing the internet and finding her way to some risqué sites that she hadn't even known existed before. So much leather and freaky shit. Yet she couldn't look away, getting exciting with each second that passed as she allowed herself to become a captive audience. Some of the things she recognized as Rod doing with her that first time only gentler compared to what she had watched.

She found herself wanting to join, to participate, and the recoil that she felt she should be feeling not occurring. What path had Rod led her on? And now that he was gone, she was alone now.

All alone and surrounding by people who would never understand what she was becoming.

* * *

In the darkness, tragedy can shape you, sorrow can temper you, and single-minded determination will sharpen you into a weapon. What kind of weapon you become all depends on the choices you make.

On her perch, Roxi stared out into the night, a more refined version of her leather superhero outfit encasing her body. The stitching was better hidden and not so obvious, the fur attached in strategic places so as to conceal her tools of the trade in case she needed them, and last of all, a cat-eared hood covered her head, hiding her easily recognizable hair. The domino mask remained but her transformation from that night's tragic events was complete.

Mysterion was out there, watching over this town, patrolling for the criminals and occasional supervillian that preyed on those who could not fight back. Though injured in that last confrontation, he had vanished, once again robbing her of her desired Spiderman kiss that she swore she would obtain.

In the meantime, she would get him to notice her by doing what he did every night. He was bound to not only notice her but look into her. That would be when she would draw him in, lure him into giving her what she wanted. At the same time, she would be proving to herself and the world that she was not some damsel in distress, waiting for the nearest hero to save her.

The path she was choosing to take was a dark one and she knew without a doubt that she would experience hardships and issues that could tear her psyche apart. It would be worth it, though, when this town was made safe and Mysterion treated her as she wanted him to, as an equal.

That heinous villain was also still out there and she needed to stop him before he hurt any others. Hide as much as he wanted, she would find him and justice would be placed upon him.

"Sleep peacefully, citizens of South Park," she said to herself as she stood up, squaring her shoulders as she prepared for her first night out in the dark streets of this crime-ridden town. "Revel in your security for tonight you are under the watchful eye of _Le Chat Noir_."

From below her, a window opened and Mari stuck her head out. "That's not even English!"

"Goddamn it Mari!" _Le Chat Noir_ shouted down at the girl. "_Dieu qui baise fichu il_! Why don't you take your pessimistic comments and go to Hell!"

"If nobody points out how lame you're being, you're just going to get yourself into trouble," Mari replied, no inflection in her voice. "Again."

"Good God, why don't you go back inside and make me a fucking sandwich!" _Le Chat Noir_ shouted back. "I'm gonna be hungry when I get back from patrol so have it ready!"

"I'm not Alfred Pennyworth and last I checked, I wasn't a butler either," Mari shot back. "Make it yourself."

"Ungrateful," _Le Chat Noir_ grumbled to herself and she threw herself out into the night.


End file.
